


The Gentling of an Angry Wind

by TsarBomba



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Canon-typical violence racism and homophobia, F/F, Femslash, Genderbend, Genderbent John Marston, Spoilers for Red Dead Redemption 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarBomba/pseuds/TsarBomba
Summary: A mercenary, a rancher, and her patience.*Updated from the beginning to match lore and canon presented in RDR 2, spoilers ahead.





	1. Part 1, Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: This fic features a gay woman of color in an occupation that would have not been commonplace in her time. As such she will sometimes be treated with ridicule and outright hostility and sometimes slurs will be used, sparingly but realistically. I will use content warnings when necessary throughout the work for other things as they come up. Thanks for reading!

=• Part 1 •=

They first laid eyes on each other on the train out of Blackwater. Bonnie had been seated there in the passenger car with her head leaned against the window watching the folk who embarked after her. Watched the old city ladies in their pastel dresses and derbies and then the priest in his stark livery leading behind him a young and hopeful acolyte as they passed on down the narrow aisle on the way to their seats and she listened briefly to their conversations, picking up gossip as it came, though the brunt of her concern was with the satchel resting in her lap. She opened the cover and peered inside and quickly closed it again as if she looked too long the contents might vanish. A handful more migrant workers and travelers sat down about her and she stared out the glass at the city and at the dark waters beyond as the ferry chugged out of view first behind the rooftops then beyond the lakeside cliffs. A fireapple red automobile glided slowly down the cobbled streets and men on horseback stepped around it and turned in their saddles to watch it pass by.

Her mind had begun to drift and she nearly failed to notice that a hush had fallen over the compartment. No one was talking. She glanced around and saw that nearly everyone was looking at the back of the car. She turned her head and then beheld a woman that was unlike any woman she had seen before. She was dressed much like a man, clad in pants tucked into tall boots and she wore a thigh-length coat over a waistcoat and collared shirt. A faded Stetson rested atop her head and everything about her was dark: dark-haired and dark-eyed and dark-skinned enough to stand out in an assemblage such as this. She was heavily armed. There was a knife and a revolver hanging at her hips and a hunting rifle and bandolier slung over her back. At either side of her were two men in linen suits and bowler hats and they followed her until she sat down a couple of rows behind Bonnie on the opposite side of the aisle. One of the men muttered a few words to her and then they took their leave from the car. The woman never looked at her escorts nor spoke to them and once they were gone she crossed one leg over the other with her ankle resting above her knee and glared out across the compartment at the gawkers, her expression confrontational. Folk were quick to look away. One of the old ladies began to fan herself and some shifted in their seats, some pulled their belongings closer to themselves. The woman silently regarded them all the while. Eventually her gaze swung around to meet Bonnie's and she studied her from under the brim of her hat. Bonnie offered a small and courteous nod but the gesture was not returned. The train whistled to them and billowed smoke about the windows, lurching forward slightly on the tracks and Bonnie turned back in her seat, her eyes averted but her interest piqued. She chanced another glance but the woman was no longer looking at her and instead was staring at a fixed point beyond the window, sight and mind far away from those diffident passengers poised so nervously about her.

They left the station and traversed rolling grasslands and a narrow swath of pine. Elm trees solitary out on the viridium plains and blackfoot daisies lining the roadsides. Travelers rode alongside the tracks, racing the train along the edge of the county as it dived headfirst into a vivid and ancient wilderness and then through a corridor of spruce and burgundy ferns. Towering pine and cedar and the Ambarino mountains looming pale blue not so far to the north. The city and all traces of civilization as they knew it vanished behind them and into the distance. Conversation slowly picked back up. The prim old ladies gossiped of politics and Indians and the priest discussed hell and damnation and salvation with his rapt audience of one. Grim talk all around. They crossed the falls and rolled past the MacFarlane Ranch and into a tunnel through the mountains, the car dimming and the shadows from the lamps along the rock shifting strange and geometric across their faces and when they emerged they were looking out over a bleak expanse dominated by huge saguaro that stood upright like crude effigies with arms outstretched towards a sky so uniform in its blueness that it looked to be painted so. In the far western distance was a raw-looking mountain range that sprawled towards the southern border to Mexico from which juniper trees grew out the seams of cliffs layered blue and red and orange and yellow, striations in the rock dripping waxlike towards earth. Horse trails fanned out over the desert like thin white rivers and serpentined up the switchbacks. With the right eyes one could see in the unforgiving terrain and in the aggressive vibrance of the sky that this land had seen centuries of bloodshed harkened back to the fireless nights of bone clubs and war-chants.

They left the mountain pass behind them and as the train began its descent into the flat of the region it seemed to pull the sun down with it. The western edge of the sky turned scarlet and gold-rimmed clouds sat before a sun that pulsed heavily above the peaks. The train slowed and screeched and finally settled at the small settlement of Armadillo in the true heart of New Austin. Bonnie stood up and looked behind her to find the woman already gone. She stepped off the train and caught sight of her just as she passed through the swinging doors of the saloon with many faces looking after her. Even when counted amongst the strange wayfarers that sometimes passed through this town no folk around these parts had likely seen anything quite like her before.

Amos had the wagon at the outskirts of town stood up next to the stagecoach and he glanced at the satchel in Bonnie's hands and nodded his head. "Miss MacFarlane."

"Amos. Everything alright at the ranch?"

"Same as you left it ma’am."

She climbed up and sat down. The woman left the saloon following a man that Bonnie recognized but could not name, the piano tinkling behind them and into the street. They both mounted up and rode out of town heading west. They crossed in front of the wagon and crossed the tracks and Bonnie watched after them. The train whistled and began its slow crawl forward once more and then hid the riders from her sight as they disappeared into the desert.

======•======

The next morning Bonnie and Amos drove together to Ridgewood Farm to the west of Armadillo in order to appraise a stud for purchase and on the way home the road they followed looped up into the feral territory of Rio Bravo to circle those wild hills where both held rifles over their laps and watched the wilderness on either side of the trail. Little dark wolves trotted in the shadows under the ridge and the horses snuffled nervously. Buzzards circled high and slow above them. The wagon crested a low incline and over the edge they caught sight of the whitewashed walls of the bandit stronghold Fort Mercer and Amos clucked the horses up. The sun was still low and the sky was a dusty navy under the cloud-cover from which shone splashes of pink and orange. Bonnie noticed a dark shape ahead on the side of the road before the gate and studied it, thinking it a shadow. As they neared she saw it was a body.

"Amos, look."

Amos squinted. He slowed the horses. "The hell."

"Stop up there. They might be hurt."

"Ma'am if you had any sense you'd be tellin me to hightail it out of here. It might could be an ambush."

"Amos."

"We're gonna get our dumb asses shot," he said. But he kept going, trotting the horses cautiously down the road where the fort stood still and silent as if abandoned. No sentries at the gates or snipers peering over the high walls. The woman from the train was laying on her back where she seemed to have fallen, a trail of dark and dry blood running thin into the road and there was more blood splattered closer to the gate. Amos halted about ten feet from where she lay and hid the wagon and the horses behind the ruins of a bullet-riddled stone wall. Bonnie immediately dropped down off the bench and hurried towards her. Amos cursed at her under his breath and followed, aiming his rifle at the fort, menacing the top of the wall in case any of the bandits within chose that unfortunate moment to poke his head out.

Bonnie crouched down beside her and found a small hole in her coat from which blood had bloomed and ran out her shirt. Her face was pale beneath the dust. Bonnie carefully placed her hand on her chest and had to wait a long moment to feel it rise slightly, the breath that followed labored and short.

"Amos," she hissed. "Amos, she's still alive. Get over here."

Amos cursed again and scurried over and handed Bonnie the rifle. He bent down to pick the woman up and slung her over his shoulder to lift her into the wagonbed. Bonnie climbed in behind and held steady pressure against the wound with an empty burlap sack while blood slowly seeped up to coat her palms. The woman did not stir.

They brought her back home and laid her on a cot in one of the vacant ranch-hand lodgings. She had lost some blood and the bullet had likely put a crack or two in her ribs but she was alive and would stay so. Amos had glanced at her in the back of the wagon on their way back and shook his head like he could not understand quite what she was.

"Don't know why the hell we bothered with that. I mean, look at her. What the hell kind of woman goes knockin at the doors of wanted murderers."

Still, Bonnie had attended to her, checking often to see if she had woken up. She was interesting to her, novel and ambiguous, and she had questions she wanted to ask. Bonnie had known and heard of plenty of men who walked the path of violence but not many women, and after she had properly seen the stranger with her bloodied clothes stripped from a body that bore the scars of an unlucky life she knew this was a violent woman and because of this she always entered the cabin cautiously. For all Bonnie knew she had gone to Fort Mercer seeking trouble and had in turn been met with it. But she could not help but wonder the circumstances that would have guided her towards such a choice and such an outcome.

By the following morning the stranger had awoken. Bonnie had cracked the door open to find her with one hand pressed gingerly to the bloodied bandage wrapped around her waist, still laying flat on her back. She cleared her throat to announce her presence but the woman hardly glanced at her before turning her eyes back to the ceiling. Bonnie frowned at this rudeness but bit down her ire and took one small step in.

"Well, you're alive."

The woman still did not turn. She raised her arms and regarded her hands as if to appraise that each limb and digit still remained in proper order. If she was surprised to find herself in a place she had no prior notion of or if she was relieved by her continued existence she did little to indicate it. "So it seems," she said.

Bonnie took another step inside and closed the door behind her. "How do you feel?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the polite word for it."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Stupid is the word we use round here. What were you doin?"

The woman leaned her head over and finally looked at her. Bonnie had studied the ragged scars across the dip of her cheek and had thought then that the woman must have been mauled by an animal, maybe a wildcat. But there were many others that were straight and deliberate. Man-made marks, the circular remnants of bulletholes here and there. She was striking, even with the scars and likely because of them, her features sharp and her eyes quick and without much warmth but none of the meanness she had borne on the train warped her countenance as she studied Bonnie. The woman turned away again and grimaced as she sat up. "Hell if I know what I was doin. Somethin stupid, if I had to guess."

Bonnie's lips quirked and she leaned back against the door. "Well, you'll be okay. Once you didn't die the doctor said you'd be fine. Got the bullet out a couple days ago."

"Good."

Bonnie nodded at her. "Never thought I'd watch someone nearly bleed to death in the back of my wagon."

The woman glanced down at her hands and raised one to push her hair out of her face. "I apologize for the inconvenience. You should've left me there to die."

There was nothing in her tone to indicate she was jesting and Bonnie eyed her dubiously. "Is that what you wanted? Is that why you rode right out to Fort Mercer and picked a fight with the most dangerous bandit in the county, Miss...?"

The woman looked up again and then stood slowly. She was tall, wiry. She held out a hand. When Bonnie took it in hers she felt callouses on her fingers from years of them being wrapped around a pair of reins.

"Marston," the woman said. "Jacklyn Marston."

Bonnie nodded. "Bonnie MacFarlane. Miss Bonnie MacFarlane."

"Well, Miss MacFarlane. You may be right." She paused and slightly tilted her head, eyes fixed on Bonnie's face. "You were on the train."

"I was."

"I thought I recognized you."

"Why were you really up at Fort Mercer?" Bonnie asked.

Jacklyn considered the question and waited a moment before choosing her answer. She began to look about the little cabin, scouting out her belongings. "I was giving Mr. Williamson a chance, for old times sake."

"You know Bill Williamson?"

She picked up her bloodied waistcoat folded at the bedside table and buttoned it, wincing as it pulled around her bandage. "Used to. Long time ago now."

Bonnie studied her. Hard to tell if she looked old enough for there to have been a long time ago but this land aged people in strange ways and time passed even stranger so she did not question it. "How'd you know him?"

Jacklyn pursed her lips. "We have a bit of a history. Nothin too pretty."

A guarded response. Someone else may have realized that this was a subject she did not wish to speak of but Bonnie was as relentless as her curiosity. "What was he like?"

"Angry and stupid. Nothin's changed."

She slowly shrugged the black coat over her shoulders and looked around for the rest of her possessions. Bonnie nodded at the trunk where her hat rested. "Well, Miss Marston, what will you do now?"

"Now I'll take my time, and go after him the less kind way."

"Are you trying to arrest him? Is that what you're doin here?"

"I'm not the law of any kind, ma'am."

"Are you a bounty hunter?"

Jacklyn contemplated the term. She let out a little surprised laugh as if at a joke. "In a way, I suppose that's what I am now."

"How does a woman end up in an occupation like that?"

"Good aim and bad luck," said Jacklyn, and that was that.

Bonnie's eyes narrowed. This interrogation had left her with more questions than answers but Jacklyn seemed unwilling to dispense more than the absolute vaguest of responses so she discontinued her line of questioning. For the time being.

"Well, if you're lookin for something to do in the meantime while you're healing up, you could help me round the ranch," said Bonnie. "Could use someone to come along for a quick patrol along the perimeter later, we've seen some people sneakin around here at night recently. You could work off a bit of the money we paid the doctor to dig that bullet out of you and it'll give you a chance to get your bearings. Otherwise, you can stay here as long as you need."

Jacklyn placed her hat upon her head and nodded as if satisfied with her completeness. "I'm more than happy to help. Least I could do to repay you."

"Well, I won't turn down free labor," Bonnie teased. "I'll be frank though, you're gonna get stared at. Strange enough for some of these men to have a woman as the boss round these parts, they won't know what to do with themselves when they lay eyes on someone like you."

Jacklyn nodded. "I'm used to it, ma'am. I'll try not to be a distraction."

Bonnie dipped her head and turned to give her privacy.

"Miss MacFarlane?"

She stopped and turned. Jacklyn was watching her with a flinty gaze that gave away little but her voice was gentler and less guarded when she spoke again. "Thank you for savin my life. Most folk would've taken one look at me and kept on goin. I may not act as grateful as I should but I owe you a debt and I intend to try and pay it back."

Bonnie nodded. "Just do me one favor, Miss Marston, and try not to lose it so earnestly. Not sure I'll be around the next time you need saving."

"I'll do what I can, ma'am."

Bonnie smiled at her. "And I do appreciate that. Try and take it slow. No need to be in any hurry when you've got a hole in your ribs. I'll be around the big house just down the road if you need anything."

"Yes ma'am."

"And please, call me Bonnie."

"If you'll call me Jacklyn."

Bonnie smiled a little wider as she stepped back outside. "Alright. I suppose that'll do."

 

 

  
Later that same afternoon Bonnie watched from her porch as Jacklyn made her way towards the house, one hand resting on her side. Bonnie lifted her hand in greeting and a curt nod was returned.

"Miss Marston. Back in the land of the living, I see. Just couldn't stand to take it easy like I asked?"

Jacklyn walked up to her porch and placed a boot on the step. A few workmen at the barn and corral watched after her but their attention went unacknowledged. "Thought it was about time I make myself useful," she said. "I believe you had mentioned a patrol earlier."

Bonnie nodded. "Well, I could always use an extra set of hands. Let's get you back in the saddle. Did you have a chance to see the place?"

"Just what I could take in from the walk over."

"Let's go on a quick tour then. You won't be much help if you don't know where anything is. We'll patrol later, at sundown."

Bonnie led her to a pair of horses hitched next to the foreman's office. Bonnie had picked out for her a fine bay mare and Jacklyn sat the horse like she had spent more of life in the saddle than with her boots on the ground. They rode together easily, Bonnie making most of the conversation with Jacklyn listening and surprising her by replying as politely as any gentlewoman would. Bonnie soon found that her initial mistrust and even fear of her had been misplaced.

"You should know, Miss Marston, when I first saw you on the train you looked like you were sent in there to massacre the whole car. Unsettled the whole lot of them, you did."

Jacklyn chuckled. "My apologies if I unsettled you. I wasn't in the best of moods for that ride, I'm afraid."

"Who were those men with you? Looked like government men."

"I suppose you could call them my employers. I say that with reluctance but it doesn't really change much. I work for them regardless."

Bonnie nearly pried further but caught herself. Jacklyn's expression had clouded and Bonnie decided to change the subject, filing away that line of conversation for later. "How about we rest a bit? We can sit in the parlor and talk a while before headin back out. You look like you could use a drink."

Jacklyn dismounted her horse, tenderly holding her side. She nodded up at her. "I'd like that, Miss MacFarlane."

She rolled her eyes. "Call me Bonnie."

They went inside. Bonnie brewed them coffee and added a quick pour of rum to Jacklyn's mug.

"Thank you, ma'am," she said as she took the offering from Bonnie's hands, smiling to herself when she tasted it. "Have to say, I can't remember the last time I encountered such hospitality. And this is fine property. You run this place on your own?"

Bonnie sat down across from her. "My father owns the land. You'll meet him at some point. He's visiting an old friend of his in Strawberry. Mother died from illness when I was a little girl. I had six brothers but only one of them is still alive and he's a big shot banker in New York City. Traded out his saddle for a suit and tie and didn't look back. And Amos is my head ranch-hand. He was there when we found you on the road. But otherwise, yes, it's just me."

"Must be tiring."

Bonnie shrugged. "Can be. Luckily my pa handles most of the bookkeeping. He's gettin a little old for hard labor. But in many ways I'm a woman in a man's world, working a man's job. At least that's what I've been told. When I first started taking over more of the day-to-day operation plenty of the hands fought me on it. Didn't take too long for them to fall in line though. They recognize competence when they see it."

Jacklyn eyed her over her mug. "I get the impression that you can intimidating when you wish to be."

"I'd like to think you mean that as a compliment."

"I do. You give some people an inch and they'll take a mile. Holdin your ground can be difficult. Makin a space for yourself, even more so."

Bonnie tilted her head at her. "I'm sure you know a thing or two about that."

Jacklyn knew she was being baited and shrugged and averted her eyes towards the front window overlooking the road. "A thing or two," she replied, and said no more.

Bonnie sighed through her nose. "I'm going to make myself something to eat. It's been a couple of days since you've had anything, would you care for a sandwich or something?"

"I'd like that, ma'am, thank you."

Bonnie stood and retreated into the kitchen. From the doorway she could see Jacklyn still staring out the window though her mind seemed to be elsewhere. Bonnie watched her a moment longer and then turned away.

She was some time in the kitchen and when she came back out with two plates she found Jacklyn sound asleep, still seated upright in her chair. Bonnie set the plates down and carefully removed the empty mug from Jacklyn's hand. She stood there a moment studying her and then she sighed again and left her alone, closing the curtains as she left the parlor.

 

 

 

"Miss Marston?"

Jacklyn sat up quickly, startled, one hand immediately reaching towards her sidearm. She froze when she realized it was Bonnie standing there in the parlor, watching her with an amused twist to her lips and entirely without fear. She sat back in the chair, dropping her hand and glancing once more out the window, eyes widening almost imperceptibly when she saw how much the world beyond the glass had darkened. "How long?"

"Couple hours," Bonnie said. "You were out before I could even feed you. So much for hospitality."

Jacklyn did not quite look embarrassed but still she rubbed the back of her neck and her expression was contrite. "My apologies Miss MacFarlane, for fallin asleep and for nearly pullin my gun on you. I'm a poor guest."

"It's quite alright. I told you you needed the rest, didn't I? And your trigger itch might come in handy. You might recall me mentionin trouble we've been having with rustlers and other undesirables around the ranch. Will you help me keep watch on the property line this evening?"

"Of course."

"I want to see who is trespassin our land. Best bring your rifle just in case."

"Always do."

Bonnie picked up her own rifle and tossed her head over her shoulder as they made their way to the door. "Let's head out. Country is real beautiful around this time of night."

Mauve sky to the west, the stars thick and pale at the zenith of the heavens where the last light of the sun reddened the edges of the clouds. They looked out towards the horizon across the ranch's pasturelands and they could hear the bellowing of cattle beyond the barn. Thick fields of blue wildflowers and plaingrass that grew waist-high sprawled over the low hills and deer grazed under big oaks along the high ridge of the mountains whose uppermost peaks were cloud-wrapped and faded into the firmament. They sat their horses a moment and just watched. It was Jacklyn who spoke first.

"You're right. It is beautiful."

Bonnie smiled and clucked her horse up. With as exhausting as the ranch could be it was easy to forget how magnificent it was in the right light. "It sure is. Come on then. Keep your eyes peeled. All sorts of strangeness happens after dark round here."

They trotted along the back of the house. At the garden Bonnie cursed and readied her rifle, pointing at the crops. "See that? Rabbits at it again. Help me clear them out, will you?"

Before she had even finished talking Jacklyn had dispatched two of the rabbits from atop her horse, shooting quickly and precisely as they sprinted squealing out of the garden and past the low picket fence, dropping silently mid-leap to the ground as she picked them off. Bonnie watched, calling out encouragement and afterward she sat her horse staring at the lean bodies that littered the rows between her crops. "Hm. Better at shootin rabbits than outlaws, I see."

Jacklyn gave her a look and Bonnie grinned. "I jest. You're a real deadeye. Much better than the men I always see tryin to kill things around here. You'd think they were wanting to make holes in the clouds."

"It does help that I'm no man."

Bonnie laughed. "Sure does. Much obliged for the help. They can be wily critters."

"That they can be."

"I'll have to come by later and fetch them before somethin else does. Haven't had rabbit stew in a long while."

They rode around the back of the property past the shooting range that the hands had set up and past the sandlot where they played horseshoes. Over the flat roofs of the worker's lodgings they caught the soft glow of a cook-fire and muffled voices. Men at rest following the day's labors. Bonnie spurred her horse and cantered ahead into the evening dark. "Let's get going. We've still got plenty of ground to cover. If it's not the rustlers stealin our cattle, it's the rabbits stealin our crops."

Jacklyn glanced back over her shoulder at the bloodied soil in the garden, the newly mended fenceposts where thieves had previously sent stolen livestock crashing through. "Not easy makin a living on the land like this. Perhaps you should move to a big city. Become a lady of leisure."

"You think so? Think I should get me some fancy dresses and feathered derbies? Maybe become one of those women who sit around all day in their wealthier friend's salons playing cards and fanning themselves?"

"That's an oddly specific image."

Bonnie shook her head. "I've gotten enough correspondence from my high-falutin brother to know it's not so far from the truth."

"I think it'd suit you just fine."

Bonnie's reply was cut off by small black shapes that cut a low path across the grass and disappeared yelping into the corral where the horses called out fearfully and circled around the fenceline in the dark.

"Coyotes. Come on. Let's catch them up before they get to the chicken coop."

Jacklyn spurred her horse up alongside her and they cleared the corral fences easily and pushed their way through the gates. The coyotes were at the coop and already there was snarling and a scuffle between them and the chickens. Gunfire was soon general between her and Bonnie and a couple of laborers nearby as they methodically slayed coyotes, their yelps and the popping of jaws a sharp counter to the rolling boom of the rifles. A ranch-dog had engaged in a bloody tug-of-war with one of the varmint, the chicken limp between their teeth. Several of the coyotes were felled and the survivors of the ragged pack slunk off into the shadows howling with the dogs right behind.

Bonnie appraised the carnage from atop her horse. A few chickens lied in piles of scarlet feathers and their blood and the blood of the coyotes was splattered thinly over the dirt. "Shame we lost any of them. Guess it could've been worse though. I know I said it earlier but you're a good shot with that rifle."

Jacklyn had dismounted and led her horse over, rifle still poised loosely in one hand. She shifted it and slung it back over her shoulder and it looked like a movement she had done countless times before. "It's somethin I have some experience with."

"I don't doubt it. Seems to me that Bill Williamson might've just gotten lucky."

"He wasn't even the one that shot me. Luck didn't come into it. Just cowardice."

They walked back over to Jacklyn's cabin, Bonnie still atop her horse. "You know, you'd be a useful woman to have round the ranch. Not to mention you offer a bit of variety from what I'm used to seeing around here."

Jacklyn laughed. "I suppose I do."

"Are you from somewhere where there are more women like you? Walkin around dressed like assassins and armed to the teeth, I mean."

"No. I doubt that many women have circumstances all that similar to mine though. And if they do, I'm sure they've found better ways to cope with them."

"You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

"We'll see."

Bonnie held her tongue, knowing that was all she would get from her that evening. "Thank you again for the help, Miss Marston. Makes me think that you were perhaps worth the fifteen dollars it took to save you. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Jacklyn hitched her horse and tilted her chin at Bonnie. "Goodnight Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie watched her disappear into the blackened interior of the cabin and shut the door and she rode off shaking her head, the corners of her lips curling upward on their own volition.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor revisions made 11/22/18 to better match RDR 2 canon.

Early the following morning Jacklyn Marston appeared again at Bonnie's door, hat in hand, smelling of the cigarette she had smoked on the way over. She stood on the porch and dipped her head when Bonnie opened the door.

"Mornin, Miss MacFarlane."

"Miss Marston. How are you?"

"Just fine. I was wonderin if there was anything I could do to help around the ranch today."

Bonnie leaned up against the doorframe and crossed her arms. "Eager, aren't we?"

Jacklyn mirrored the offered smile. "I'm just not used to sittin around. Even on the mend."

"I don't doubt it. Come on in. Would you care for a cup of coffee? How’re your ribs?"

Jacklyn scraped her boots along the mat on the porch and stepped inside. "Much better. A couple new scars but otherwise it'll be like nothin happened."

"Good to hear."

Bonnie did not get Jacklyn her coffee, instead she shifted about on her feet, arms still crossed. Jacklyn sat down in the same chair she had fallen asleep in yesterday and stared at her, the smile faltering slightly as her eyes narrowed. "You look like you've got somethin on your mind you really want to ask me about, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie shrugged. "I've got plenty of things I'd like to ask you about. But you're not big on sharing."

"What sorts of things?"

"Well, you never did tell me how you knew Bill Williamson, or what you wanted from him."

Jacklyn broke the stare and looked off out the window. "No ma'am, I didn't."

"You really can't blame my curiosity. A woman like you shows up in town, immediately rides off to confront a notorious bandit, gets shot, and commences to killin rabbits and coyotes on my property. You keep acting like there's nothing noteworthy about these circumstances, but you're the most interesting thing that's happened to this ranch in a long time."

"Must be pretty dull round here if that's true."

Bonnie ignored the deflection. "I hope you aren't offended by my asking again. Us folk out here really can't help but try and figure out everyone else's secrets."

"I'm not offended by you askin if you aren't offended by me not tellin."

There was an edge to her voice and Bonnie kept quiet as Jacklyn sat there contemplating her next words. Finally she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs and looked right up at Bonnie. "To be honest with you, Miss MacFarlane, mine is a long and pathetic tale, and by telling you about it I would not only potentially put you in danger, but endanger the individual for whom I am doin this."

"Well, I apologize for prying."

"And I apologize for my reticence. I hope you believe me when I say that I hold my tongue out of respect for you."

"Of course, Miss Marston. I understand that an exotic city lady such as yourself has to keep some secrets to impress us lowly country folk."

Bonnie was baiting her again and Jacklyn knew it. She glanced up at her and shook her head. "I'm no city lady, Miss MacFarlane. As I'm sure you can tell."

"Then what were you doin with those Blackwater fellas on the train?"

"Like I told you, they're my employers."

Bonnie put her hands on her hips. "You're the most infuriatingly vague woman I've ever met."

Jacklyn leaned forward and set her hands on her knees. "Let's talk secrets then, Miss MacFarlane. What was in the satchel?"

"What satchel?"

"The satchel that you clutched so fearfully to your bosom when you saw me board the train like I might try and take it from you."

Bonnie sighed. "Oh. That."

"Well?"

"If I tell you, then you'll have to promise to tell me."

"Tell you what?"

Bonnie shrugged, dropping her hands back down to her sides. "Something. Anything, really."

Jacklyn stood up and slowly paced along the wall like a wolf in a pen. Finally she stopped and looked at her plainly. "I just can't do that. Not right now."

Bonnie shrugged. "Well, I guess I can't either."

"Quite the impasse we're at, ain't it."

Bonnie crossed her arms. "Bet your secret is more exciting than mine."

"Bet not."

Bonnie sighed and looked out the window at the hitched horses. She was not going to win this battle but she might win a different one. "Well, I'll bet you can't ride."

Jacklyn hooked her thumbs in her coat pockets and leaned back on her heel with one leg bent. Bonnie thought then at that moment with the challenge in her eyes and the plethora of weapons and the bloodstains on her clothing that she had never seen anything more personifying of the stark and vicious land that sprawled wild just outside the door. She looked like something from the freshly-bygone era of desperados and wild shoot-outs. Night rides out on a pale desert. There was nothing city-like about her and Bonnie was not sure why she kept trying to say otherwise.

"I'd hate to take money from a lady like you, miss," Jacklyn said meaningly, breaking Bonnie from her reverie.

Bonnie met Jacklyn's glare with her own, fire in her eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

"Is it?"

"I'll race you right now, if it is."

Jacklyn shifted on her feet and chewed on the inside of her cheek and Bonnie knew she was not going to turn her down. "Alright. If it makes you happy."

"At this point, I think few things would make me happier. Let's go, unless you're all talk like I reckon you to be."

As Jacklyn was passing her on the way out she tilted her head towards her as if to better be heard. "I suppose you're about to see for yourself."

Her voice was low and Bonnie felt her blood quicken, whether it was due to the promise of a facing a worthy foe or something else entirely she could not be certain but it was with no small amount of excitement that she followed Jacklyn out the door.

They mounted up. Bonnie halted in the middle of the road and her heart already raced ahead as Jacklyn rode up beside her.

"Alright. Let's see. There's a trail that winds around the back of the ranch and then south towards the river," Bonnie said, gesturing out towards the prairie field that bled into the woodlands at the edge of the face of the ridgeline. "Crosses an old wood bridge and hooks back around to this road coming the other way in. Pretty hard to lose your way, but if you think you can't handle it you can just stay behind me like I expect you to."

Jacklyn laughed. "You're feelin pretty confident about your odds, ain't you?"

"I trust you won't be a gentlewoman about this?"

"Ma'am, I wouldn't dare insult you by doin any less than stomp you and that nag of yours into the dirt."

Bonnie tightened her grip around the reins and nudged her horse with her spur, the animal stepping beneath her in anticipation, muscles quivering. "Big talk comin from second place."

And with that she dug her heels in and took off. Bonnie only caught a glimpse of Jacklyn's dumbfounded expression. A few seconds passed before another set of hooves came thundering up behind her, swinging around her right side to catch her up. Bonnie glanced over her arm and saw Jacklyn poised just above her saddle, giving Bonnie an admonishing look.

"Cheaters never win, Miss MacFarlane," she called over the rhythmic thud of the hoofbeats. "Take it from me!"

And with that she spurred her horse up and passed Bonnie by, leaving nothing in her wake save a cloud of dust and Bonnie's shocked laughter.

 

 

Bonnie had stopped trying to overtake her opponent about halfway through the race. She had no doubt that Jacklyn had spent much of her life atop a horse and she handled the beast as though it were an extension of her will. So Bonnie watched, about five paces behind her, goading her on just for the hell of it. Now and then she could hear Jacklyn chuckle above the hoofbeats but she never turned or spoke to her and when she won she simply glanced at Bonnie with a look that indicated there was no other way the race could have ended.

Bonnie was breathing hard as she pulled to a stop, adrenaline buzzing in her veins. She reached up and pushed a pale lock of hair out of her eyes and met Jacklyn's gaze with a grin of her own. "That was fun."

Jacklyn grinned back. "Sure. You're a more gracious loser than you let on to be."

"I know when I'm beat. Should've given you a slower horse though."

Jacklyn shook her head, still smiling. Bonnie sat her horse and looked out over the ranch. The sun sat well above the eastern horizon. It was later in the day than Bonnie realized.

"Well, it seems I've wasted my morning getting my rear handed to me with nothin to show for it," she said. "You said you wanted to help, right? Any chance I could convince you to come along with me to Armadillo? I need some supplies and would enjoy your company. And this'll give you a chance to meet the Marshal. I feel he'll be inclined to help you out on your top secret mission some."

"Of course," Jacklyn said, idly scratching her horse on the withers. "Least I could do after the morning you've had."

"Your charm is wearin thin, Miss Marston," said Bonnie as she dismounted. "Take these two over to the corral, if you please. One of the workmen will fetch them from you. You see that barn there? Gus is our blacksmith and he'll be inside. He can tell you which horses to grab and show you where the harnesses are. I'll get the wagon."

Jacklyn walked off to do as she was told, leading the two lathered-up horses behind her. It did not take long for her to return with two fresh horses and she easily got them hitched, taking her time and murmuring to them as she worked. Bonnie watched her. She thought well of folk who could not only handle their animals but treat them with care.

"You've done this a time or two," said Bonnie as she hopped up shotgun on the wagon while Jacklyn finished with the last of the fastenings. "You can take the reins. It wouldn't do for a terrifying assassin like yourself to be seen driven around by a farmer."

Jacklyn climbed up and took the reins and set them down the road headed west. The sun shone through a huge wall of pale gold cumulonimbus clouds behind them and cast shadows over the plains and their own shadows stretched out long on the road before them. Thick boughs of wild feverfew chrysanthemums sprawled white over the bluestemmed plaingrass like seafoam in the prairie valley. Curving around the canyon that rose above them out of the earth like a leviathan as they descended they came upon a narrow ridge overlooking the desert below. It was shadowed black by the canyon and from the path above it looked like a land formed of brimstone and fire. Armadillo stood small and distant, quaking gently in the heat. Bonnie glanced over at her companion's profile once and then twice. Jacklyn caught her staring and Bonnie grinned. "You know, you look pretty good. I mean, considerin you were nearly buzzard food a few days ago."

Jacklyn smirked and turned back to the road. "Suppose I have you to thank for that."

"And since then you've done a decent job of stayin alive. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Jacklyn shook her head and kept her eyes faced straight down the road. "I wouldn't bet on it."

"I'm not bettin against you after that race. But there's always hope, Miss Marston. You can't be a rancher in a country like this if you don't believe in it."

"An admirable attitude, miss."

"Well, it's by necessity. I can't think of any other way to stay sane, to be frank. What about you? I wouldn't be shocked to find that underneath your cool demeanor you're as much an optimist as I am."

Jacklyn looked hesitant in spite of Bonnie's teasing. Bonnie prodded her thigh with her own and Jacklyn gave her a flat smile in return.

"I can't really allow hope in, Miss MacFarlane. I guess it ain't somethin I think about. I take the good when it happens, and I do the same with the bad."

"A peculiar outlook. I can't really say I understand you."

"I don't reckon I do either."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop bein so deliberately enigmatic."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are. You are bein obscure as a substitute for havin a personality. It's infuriating."

Jacklyn turned the wagon off the ridge and onto the barrens of the desert. The saguaro rose above them out of the mesquite scrub and cast their own long and strange shadows with their lifted arms upon the sand. "Infuriating. That's not the first time you've used that word to describe me."

"I wonder why."

"And I wonder why you keep askin questions that I don't intend to answer."

Bonnie shrugged. "You interest me, that's all. In addition to the infuriating."

"Why is that?"

"Well, like you said, you outright refuse to tell me anything about yourself. Until it gets boring, it's interesting. Also it's funny to me that a few days ago I found you dyin on the side of the road and now you're driving me into town."

"You have a strange sense of humor."

"Fits our strange friendship, doesn't it?"

Jacklyn smiled, mirth crinkling her eyes. "I didn't realize we were friends."

Bonnie lightly smacked her knee. "Oh please, now who's being funny? Look, I know that business with Williamson is your business, but... I don't know. I enjoy talkin with you, when you ain’t tryin to upset me. And I don't think you're a bad woman. You always look like you've got murder in your eyes and you dress like a villain so you can't blame folk for assuming otherwise. Besides, people out here are superstitious. I swear the priest on the train probably thought you were the devil."

Jacklyn sat there a little while in silence pretending to be focused on the horses, though there was scarcely anyone else on the road and Bonnie could tell this was not her first time driving and she could probably do it one handed if she so desired. "First impressions are usually correct, Miss MacFarlane. I don't want you formin too high an opinion of me."

"I can form whatever opinion I want until you give me reason to change it. And, well, I just worry about you gallivantin around these parts guns blazin like some kind of deranged bounty hunter. Like my pa always says, don't go wakin snakes."

There was an odd tension in Jacklyn's face and Bonnie watched her try and construct a reply that would appease her and get her to drop the subject like she had in previous conversations. "I appreciate your concern for us lesser mortals, Miss MacFarlane. But unfortunately we aren't always given a choice. I can promise you that if there was any other way out, I would take it."

And that was that. Bonnie looked away from her and out over the bleak expanse that was New Austin. The sun was barely up and the ground was already white hot underneath the dense bottlebrush scrub and prickly pear that near mottled the land and where lizards and snakes hid flattened out in the shade, following the sun's arc in the shifting shadows below.

"You never did tell me where you were from, Miss Marston."

"Well, I'm not from anywhere round here. But I have a small holding up in West Elizabeth."

Bonnie glanced at her in surprise. "You're a rancher? Why didn't you say so? And when in your day of chasin outlaws do you have the time to raise chickens?"

"Well, calling me a rancher is a bit generous. There ain't a single living thing on that property, unless you count the vagrant who has probably already broken in through one of my windows and is sleepin in my bed."

"No one is looking after it right now?"

"No one. Absolutely no one. I believe there is a fine chance that I will return and it will have been looted and razed to the ground. I can only hope for such a thing."

"Aren't you grim. What happened to not believing in hope?"

Jacklyn shrugged. Armadillo loomed ahead austere and quiet in the dead-center of the flatlands. "I'm only human, Miss MacFarlane."

"Miss Marston, when are you going to start calling me Bonnie like I've asked you to?"

"Maybe when you start calling me Jacklyn."

Going into town they were met with stares. Folk stopped under the building overhangs and some gawked in the middle of the street on halted horses like they were witness to the arrival of someone who came from a land backwards to their own. No doubt some of them had heard grandiose rumors of the woman now residing at the MacFarlane homestead but Jacklyn seemed to have grown used to being stared at because she did not acknowledge the watchers and neither did Bonnie. They halted in front of the general store and Jacklyn gazed up then down the street.

"Well, here we are," Bonnie said. "Armadillo. Manhattan it is not, but it serves us well enough."

Bonnie swept her arm across the street to their right. "I don't think you had much of a chance to take it in last time you were here. Marshal Leigh Johnson is back along that road. You can see the sign over the door. Over there we've got the doctor, arms dealer, and then the saloon. All the drugs, guns, and drunks you could ever need. While I'm in the store you should run over to Doc Johnston's and get some supplies for yourself, just in case. Bandages and the like. There's plenty of things out here that will try and kill you and bandits are the least of them. And be polite while you're in there. He's the one saved your life."

Jacklyn looked across the street and nodded, hopping down off the wagon. "I'll do that, miss."

She turned and strode off across the road. Bonnie entered the general store with the shopkeep Herbert Moon staring out over the swinging doors behind her. He raised his white brows while she gathered her supplies. At the counter he counted out her money and gave her a long look over his spectacles. Bonnie could tell he wanted to say something and she sighed, humoring him with a response. "What, Herbert?"

He looked at her meaningly, as if to share a conspiracy. "You know, I heard from a well-informed friend of mine that that woman is a hired killer. For the you-know-whos."

"What?"

Herbert Moon nodded solemnly. "That's what he said, and he'd know, cause he knows a feller who knew a feller used to work for the government. Don't go tellin no one I said that, but you'd best be careful round her, Miss MacFarlane. Can't trust a woman that thinks she's a man. It ain’t right."

Bonnie shook her head and rolled her eyes. It was as she had thought. "Herbert, you'd be a rich man if gossip was worth anythin. You'd be richer yet if you were half as 'informed' as you think you are."

Bonnie found Jacklyn leaning up against the wagon when she exited, one ankle crossed over the other. She tilted her head at her and assisted her in loading up the supplies into the wagonbed.

"Thanks for comin along," said Bonnie. "It was nice to enjoy the view for once. And a little female companionship never hurts now and then, given that I'm usually surrounded by men."

"Believe me ma'am, I understand that feeling well."

They packed the last of the cornmeal sacks and shut the back gate. Bonnie looked about the town. "You know, why don't you take a look round Armadillo? I'm sure the Marshal would be interested to speak with you, and if you need a horse to get back you can get one cheap from the livery. Won't be as good as a MacFarlane horse but it'll do. Or take the stagecoach."

Jacklyn appraised the settlement herself and seemed to find it to her liking. "I'll do that, Miss MacFarlane. Travel safe."

Bonnie climbed up and looked back behind her. "Oh, and Jacklyn. Try not to get shot. I won't be around to save you this time."

Jacklyn dipped her head and turned, setting off towards the Marshal, the gazes of a scandalized citizenry fixed to her back the whole way over.

  
======•======

  
She opened the door to the office. There were two holding cells along the back wall and in the corner a desk and chair. Wanted posters on the wall opposite. The inmate in the leftmost cell raised his greasy head to regard her from the shadows. A wide grin split his face and he whistled between his teeth. "Are ye here to see me?"

Jacklyn ignored him. Instead she looked into the other cell, at the open door, and at the man with a silver badge pinned to his shirt asleep on the cot and snoring loudly.

"Excuse me," she said.

The deputy stirred and smacked his lips and rolled onto his back but did not wake. The inmate guffawed stupidly, still staring at Jacklyn, and he lifted his balled fist and slammed it twice on the bars of his cage. "Hey! You got a visitor!"

The deputy started and cried out and the inmate laughed harder at him. From the cot he threw an ugly look at the inmate and stood, ringing the bars with his own fist. "Shut up, you!"

He finally turned towards Jacklyn. He was slight and unkempt. The open hostility that simmered in his small, piggish eyes did not dim in the slightest as he studied her. "And what the hell do you want?"

Jacklyn narrowed her own eyes at him. "I'm lookin for Marshal Johnson."

"Why?"

"He and I likely have a similar goal."

The deputy's posture was tense and aggressive. He curled his lip and lit a cigarette, chewing on it as he considered her words. "You from the train company or somethin?"

"I'm here about Fort Mercer."

He immediately became agitated. "Fort Mercer? You— You with Williamson?!"

He had reached to pull his weapon halfway through this realization. Jacklyn had already aimed her own between his eyes, the hammer pulled back. He raised the gun to her chest, both of his hands wrapped around the grip.

"Calm down," said Jacklyn evenly. "Before I put a bullet in your hillbilly head and make you even dumber than you already are."

The inmate was hollering and hopping back and forth at the front of his cell like an ape. "Shoot him! Shoot him, honey! Go on!"

The deputy strafed sideways across the office, edging towards the desk. The pistol in his hands did not shake. "You gettin cute with me, girl? I know trouble when I sees it."

The front door opened and closed behind Jacklyn's shoulder. She did not take her eyes away from the gun aimed at her. She heard a sigh behind her back.

"What's goin on here?" said the new voice, disinterested and weary as he walked towards the desk, spurs clicking against the wood floor.

The deputy jerked his gun at Jacklyn. "Got me one a them Williamson bitches."

Jacklyn flexed her hand as if willing herself not to pull the trigger. "And I've got me the sorriest excuse for a lawman I've ever laid eyes on."

"Jonah," said the newcomer. He had lit a cigar and he puffed on it placidly, his eyes on his desk and the papers spread throughout. "Put the gun down."

Jonah paused only a moment. Then he dropped his hands. "Yessir, Mr. Johnson," he mumbled, taking a step back towards the cell. Jacklyn lowered her own gun and glared at him a long moment before turning away.

Marshal Johnson studied her, the cigar held between his teeth, both of his hands flat upon the desk as if he were about to give an address. He looked like a man who had held his position about ten years too long and the worn grey eyes within his worn and grey visage had seen much in their time. He nodded slightly at her, his own assessment complete. "You must be the woman from Blackwater."

She nodded and holstered her weapon and held out her hand. "Jacklyn Marston."

The Marshal shook her hand. Then he looked to his deputy who was standing at the far wall behind them, still fuming, his eyes shifting between his master and the unwelcome stranger.

"Jonah," said the Marshal. "Get out of here a minute."

Jonah ducked his head and began to make his way to the door. "Yessir, Mr. Johnson, sir."

He caught Jacklyn's eyes on his way out and immediately his expression twisted to one of total animosity. "Oh, I done seen enough of your hide round here. I know trouble when I sees it."

"You mentioned that," she said to him. "Go on now. Git. That's a good boy."

"Oh you keep tryin it, you c—"

"Jonah," said the Marshal, and Jonah fell silent, stalking out of the office with one last spiteful look thrown at Jacklyn. She swung her gaze back to the Marshal, who was watching her through the thin haze of his smoke. He sat down. "What are you doing here, Miss Marston? Aside from rilin up my deputies. All I got from your bosses in Blackwater was a telegram sayin you were coming. They did not deign to tell me why."

"I'm here to capture or kill Bill Williamson."

For a moment neither of them spoke. Then the Marshal chuckled at her. "Okay."

"Somethin funny?"

"You just make it sound so easy."

Jacklyn sat down across from him. "Can you assist me?"

The Marshal shook his head. "Williamson is over in the next county. He's out of my jurisdiction. Besides, him and his boys tend to keep themselves out of my town."

"So you're happy to have him out there?"

"Happy? No I ain't happy, but I also ain't suicidal. I heard about what happened when you went up there by yourself. Got laid out in the dirt. You're lucky that Miss MacFarlane came upon you and not one of the hundreds of things out there that would've finished the job. My job? It ain't huntin bandits all over these three counties, it's keepin this town safe. It's hard enough round here already."

"I knew Bill Williamson personally, Marshal. Knew him a long time. He's angry and dumb and violent and he's very good at findin trouble. He might not be causin you any grief now but it's only a matter of time til he does. Take it from someone who knows."

The Marshal shrugged. "He ain't here yet. When he is, we'll deal with him."

Jacklyn leaned back slightly in her chair and regarded him, her hands folded in her lap. "You know, I hear you speak, and I'm reminded why some of the people I've respected the most in my life had a problem with authority."

If the Marshal was offended or taken aback by her words he showed nothing to indicate it. He simply shrugged. "Look, I know who you are, and I know you ain't always been on the right side of the law. I also know you and Williamson used to run together. Whatever is between you and him and the fellas that sent you, that's your business. My business is keepin this town from becoming a livin hell for the people that live here. Whole world has problems, ma'am, and I'm here, doing what I can."

"And what problems are those?"

The Marshal chuckled humorlessly and made a vague gesture at the door and the town beyond. "Right now? Well I got the railway, the people who pay my salary, trying to get me to turn a blind eye to them burnin down settlements up north. I got a bunch of cattle rustlers out near Pike's Basin that need shuttin down, not forgetting the gang that keeps murdering homesteaders out in the back country, and I got a bunch of hoods over in the saloon, drunk, threatenin to shoot up the whole town. That's all I got today, but it's early yet," he said bleakly. "Give me couple more days and there'll be more."

Jacklyn stood up. "Alright, how about this," she said, stepping around to the side of the desk. "Let's go deal with those hoods in the saloon. Then you and I can discuss Williamson."

He peered at her from his chair, cigar between his teeth. He puffed on it in consideration of her proposal and then he nodded once. "Okay. You're persistent, ain't you?"

"Only when things matter."  
  
He nodded once more. He stood and fastened his gun belt across his hips. "Fair enough. Let's head on over before things get ugly. Keep one hand on your sidearm. These boys ain't the worst we got but that doesn't mean they ain't dangerous."

"Always do, Marshal," said Jacklyn, following him out the door and into the light of day.


	3. Chapter 3

At the fringes of the pasturelands where the prairie gave way to the rocky terrain at the edge of the river canyon Bonnie MacFarlane sat astride her horse as she did every day, squinting into the sun hanging low and red to the west. She would look away often, back to the reins in her hands or to the cattle which she safeguarded, but now and then she would watch the road that rounded the ridge back into the desert as if she were waiting for someone or something to appear over the horizon. The cattle bellowed all around her, ripping up great mouthfuls of grass and tamping down the earth as they migrated slowly through the field.

Amos sat his horse beside her, absently chewing on a stalk of something he had plucked from the ground. When she turned once more to the west he looked at her. "Everythin alright, Miss MacFarlane?"

"Yeah," she said, turning back to the herd. "Just lookin."

He nodded at her and squinted into the light. "You hear about what that Marston woman been up to in Armadillo? One of the men came back from there yesterday and says they got her runnin around shootin bandits. That's all they talkin about at the saloon, he says."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Marshal, him and his deputies. Says they stormed Pike's Basin and cleared out a whole gang of rustlers. Bollard Twins. Says Marston shot more than the three of them combined. Maybe that's all tall talk but still. I don't know where she came from or who she's workin for but that woman makes me nervous."

Bonnie relaxed. She had not heard a word about Jacklyn Marston since their drive to Armadillo two days ago and she had begun to fear the worst. "Does she make you nervous cause she's a woman who can handle herself?"

Amos shook his head. "You know it ain't got nothin to do with that, miss. I've worked eight years now for a woman who can handle herself. But you've studied her enough yourself to know she didn't get all those scars from fallin over in church."

Bonnie did not disagree with that but she had no reply either. He rode off from her to round up a few stragglers who were straying too close to the cliffs. Bonnie's mind was elsewhere as they drove the herd back towards their pens, the evening redness to the west giving way to a white-speckled navy as the stars began to show themselves.

  
======•======

  
It was not entirely by chance that Jacklyn Marston came upon the prone form of Nigel West Dickens in the afternoon of the following day, beside his coach, laying spread-eagle on his back below the brutal desert sun as if some wrathful god had cast him there in spite. She sat her horse a moment and surveyed the scene. The coach proudly emblazoned with the merchant's moniker seemed untouched, crates of white bottles sweating within, and the horses stood there patiently, swatting at flies with their tails and snuffling and pawing at the dirt. There was no one else in sight. Jacklyn dismounted and made her way over.

"Hey there," she said. The man did not stir. There was blood on his vest but his belly was rising and falling steadily. Jacklyn stepped closer and prodded at him with her boot. "You okay?"

"Bugger fuck!" exclaimed the man suddenly. "God dammit!"

Jacklyn paused. "Excuse me?"

"I said I'm not okay!" he snapped. "Do I look like I'm okay?"

She peered down at him, unconcerned by the small bullet that had grazed his side. "You look pretty good for a corpse."

He laughed coldly. "Praise be!"

Jacklyn bent down, shaking her head at him as she slung one of his arms over his shoulder. He cried out and she pulled harder, yanking him to his feet. "Move up. Time to get you to a doctor. Or an undertaker. Whichever you need when we get to town."

Nigel West Dickens had begun to pray loudly to all the saints, damning them and begging them for mercy in equal measure. It took half a miracle for Jacklyn to finally get him shoved up onto the carriage bench and it was an additional struggle to prop him up so she could take the reins.

"Please hurry," he pleaded, groaning as she roughly shoved him back to his own side, his arms holding his belly. "I'm bleeding like a badly butchered hog."

"You'll be fine," she told him, clucking up the horses and rambling back to the road. "I've no intention of lettin you bleed to death."

"Are you just a good Samaritan or did the sheriff send you?"

"Neither," she told him. "I'm a mercenary who recognizes an opportunity when I see one."

West Dickens brightened at this admission. "Ah! A woman of my own heart. What's your name, my girl?"

"Jacklyn Marston."

"Good God!" he exclaimed, holding his stomach tighter. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire! How many outlaws can a man encounter in one day?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I only shoot defenseless old men on bad days."

"I keep that in mind," he muttered. He squinted at her dubiously. "How did you find me?"

"Eli, one of the Marshal's deputies. He told me you usually take this road into Armadillo. Said you were supposed to be in town peddlin miracles a couple days ago. I figured it might be useful having a man in your line of work in my debt."

"You're a regular Machiavelli aren't you?" he groaned. The both of them heard it at the same time: hoofbeats coming up from behind. Jacklyn turned to look and narrowly avoided the bullet that careened past her head.

"Good Lord!" West Dickens cried, huddling down into the bench and all but laying on Jacklyn's lap. "It's those scoundrels who shot me! We're done for!"

"Get off of me," said Jacklyn, shoving him away. She wrapped the reins around her wrist and urged the horses into a gallop and pulled her revolver. One of the thugs had ridden up beside them on West Dickens' side and the merchant ducked just as Jacklyn leveled her arm to shoot the attacker off his horse.

"Christ!" shouted West Dickens, holding his bloody hands over his ears. When he removed them from his face he looked like a painted offering to some primitive diety.

Jacklyn leaned around the carriage and with her rifle shot two more men. All around them was the sound of wood splintering in a hail of bullets and through the cloud of dust behind them she beheld the dim figures of yet more pursuers. Jacklyn cursed and took up the reins, urging the horses to go even faster. "What did you do to these fools?" she asked.

"Ignorant savages, the lot of them," he snarled in abject disgust. "Incapable of appreciating the miracles of medical science. It's really quite sad."

Two more riders merged up alongside the coach, one on either side. Jacklyn shot one and ducked down as the dying man fired mindlessly across the bench to take out his associate, both of them dropping like rag dolls off the sides of their horses, the cries of one man fading behind them as his mount drug him through the dirt, his foot stuck in the stirrup. Armadillo loomed ahead. West Dickens continued to prostrate himself before any god that would hear him.

"Take me into your arms, oh Lord," he cried, swaying back and forth as if in rapture. "Death, I embrace you."

Jacklyn glanced at him. "I think you need more than a doctor."

They rambled into town, the coach swaying dangerously and the horses spent. Jacklyn stopped them in front of the doctor's office and hopped down from the seat to walk around the side. "Sit up. We're here."

West Dickens groaned loudly as she helped him down, his performance so convincing that he might have made the ancient Thespis weep. "Thank you madam, thank you," he gasped, leaning against the coach so Jacklyn could swing his arm over her shoulder. She had to crouch so he could reach her. "You're a true gentlewoman and a... a woman of honor."

"Coming from you I doubt that means much but I appreciate the civility."

They walked around the front of the coach, West Dickens staggering and dragging his feet. "I owe you a debt, madam, and I always pay my debts. If I die I'm sorry for it. If not I'll be your man for... for—"

Doc Johnston met them on the porch, giving Jacklyn a reproachful look for what she had brought to his door. She handed West Dickens off to him. "Let him fix you up first. After that we'll see what you're my man for."

The door closed behind them. Jacklyn stood on the wooden walkway peering up and down the street. The hour had grown late. Too late to ride back to the ranch, especially when she had things to do here in the morning. She began to walk towards the saloon.

Raucous laughter and the slamming of glass on wood and the tinkling notes of the piano greeted her as she pushed through the swinging doors. She had spent her evenings there the last few days and folk no longer paid her much attention as she sidled up to the counter and motioned for the bartender. He wordlessly poured her a shot of whiskey and she downed it and asked for one more. She felt a hand brush her shoulder and she turned. The working girl who touched her had mistaken her for a man from behind and looked surprised as Jacklyn faced her, though she expertly hid her shock behind a warm smile, one customer just as good to her as another. "Hi there, honey," she drawled. "Fancy some company?"

Jacklyn regarded her. Then she shook her head. "No, thank you," she murmured. "But if you need somewhere safe to be later, I'm in the room just above us, at the end of the landing."

The prostitute paused a moment but when she understood the reason for the offer she relaxed. "Oh, it ain't so bad here. Most of the mean drunks stick to Thieves Landing. I... I appreciate it though."

With that she gave Jacklyn one more parting smile and let her be. Jacklyn finished her drink and made her way to her room. She closed the door and removed her hat and coat and boots and lay down on the bed otherwise fully clothed. Countless nights she had fallen asleep with anger and bitterness heavy within her and still they lingered but this night she allowed herself idle thoughts of a ranch nestled in a pastoral prairie, and of the woman who dwelled within.

 

 

The following morning found Jacklyn once more standing before the doctor's office, her and a couple other curious onlookers, as Nigel West Dickens was forcibly expelled from Doc Johnston's establishment.

"And I can tell you, sir, that miracle cures are no laughing matter!" shouted West Dickens from the walkway. "And so I bid you good day, sir!"

The door slammed closed, muffling the barks of laughter coming from within. West Dickens made a show of turning and sighing and brushing dust from his suit as though the experience had sullied him. When he looked up and beheld Jacklyn his scowl immediately broke into a wide smile.

"Aha!" he said, holding out his arms as if to welcome an old friend. "My beautiful savior! How are you, Miss Marston?"

"Just fine."

"Grand, grand," he said. "I'm afraid we bypassed the typical introductions yesterday. Nigel West Dickens, at your service."

He bowed with a flourish. She tilted her head at him. "At my service?"

"Well, at everyone's service!" he declared proudly, the consummate showman. "At the service of science! Of knowledge! Of life! But yes, at your service in particular. I'll never forget what you did for me, appearing there in my time of need like my own guardian angel."

Jacklyn nodded. "Very good. How are your wounds?"

"Hmm? Oh! Much, much better."

He leaned close to her, one hand cupped around his mouth as if he were sharing a mutual secret. "But of course, they would be, wouldn't they?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you take a blow to the head that I don't know about or did you just forget our conversation yesterday?"

"My memory is near photographic, thanks in no small part to my miracle elixir. In this chariot," he said, rapping on the side of the coach, "I transport the cure to all ailments, from bullet wounds to amnesia."

Jacklyn shook her head. "Give it up, old man."

"That's Mr. West Dickens to you, girl," he said, wagging his finger admonishingly.

He quickly came to understand that this was not the correct course of action. Jacklyn's face darkened and became something worth fearing as she stepped up to him. "Give it _up_ , old man."

This time the command was not questioned and West Dickens scurried away from her like a rat, dabbing the sweat away from his face with a silk handkerchief. "I can see you're not a woman to be trifled with."

"I'd advise you to quit talkin and start listenin. I saved your life. I'm owed a debt. I need assistance in gettin into Fort Mercer. Can you help me or should I stick a bullet in your kneecap and walk away?"

He looked around shiftily. Seeing that they were alone on the street he dropped both his head and his voice and spoke to her with both deference and urgency. "Look, Miss Marston. I want to assist you in any way I can. And I can get into Fort Mercer. Not even Fort Knox is immune to my charms. But I'm broke. These cures are the key to changing that, and I'll bet I could use a healthy and exceptionally talented young woman like you to sell them by the crateful. I have something lucrative lined up at Ridgewood Farm, just down the road a ways. That's where I was headed when those thugs found me. If you'll come along, I'll explain the plan on the way."

Jacklyn gave him a long look. "This had better not be a waste of my time."

"I wouldn't dream of it, madam," he simpered, watching her hopefully.

She sighed through her nose. "Let me fetch my horse."

They left side by side, Jacklyn riding alongside the coach. The gentle grey light of morning was giving way to the brightness of day as they left the pale sea of the desert and traversed a landscape of jagged chasms and low hills in a bight of heat-scorched and scrubby grasses.

"I'd like to make somethin clear to you," Jacklyn said after a time. "You ever try that shit with me again and I'll make you wish you were still bleedin out in the middle of nowhere with nothin but hungry wolves to keep you company."

West Dickens sniffed. "Well, I can't help that I've been blessed with the gift of language, Miss Marston. I'm a talker. I've talked myself into plenty of graves and I've talked myself right back out of them. But consider your warning heeded. I'll let my patented Miracle Elixir speak for itself, it and my thousands of happy customers."

"The men who were tryin to kill you didn't seem all that happy."

He scoffed dismissively at that claim. "Skepticism is the bastard child of progress, Miss Marston. Knowledge makes a fool into a doubting Thomas. It's the cross I bear as a pioneer in the fields of commerce and medical research. If my tonic is such a sham, how do you explain the fine fettle in which you find me this morning? Last time you saw me, I was knocking at death's door."

"You should thank the doctor for that. And I reckon you were acting it up worse than it was."

"Act I can, my dear. A more convincing Othello there has never been. And so shall you a fair Desdemona make."

He paused. "Maybe that's not the best analogy. Regardless, it's about the showmanship, the flourish, the bow. We are operating in a competitive marketplace. Our product must stand out."

"And how does that involve me?" she asked.

"We are going to use your God-given talents to our advantage. We'll split up at the outskirts of Ridgewood. That way, it won't look like we came together. Once I'm set up, saunter nonchalantly into the crowd that is sure to be forming. Eventually, I will call you up to try my tonic. After extolling the virtues, I will have you perform a few feats of wonder to amaze and impress the paying public."

"Such as?"

"Oh, nothing out of the ordinary for a woman in your line of work, I assure you. Your gender grants us a unique opportunity, a means to dazzle and awe folk who would expect you to be capable of only carrying out more... well, womanly duties."

Ridgewood Farm loomed ahead, nestled on three sides by low rocky outcroppings like an island in a sea of massive boulders. They were about a quarter mile from the gates when West Dickens brought the coach to a halt and Jacklyn stopped beside him.

"Let's split up here," he said. "Give me a moment to get set up before you commence your glorious entrance. And remember, showmanship!"

With that he left her. She sat her horse and watched him go, fighting with her conscience. She was a thief and a killer but she despised that this fraud was about to make a liar out of her as well. Her horse shook her mane out and blew her nose and Jacklyn glanced down at her. "Yeah, I know. I ain't proud of it either."

The horse snuffled. An ambiguous response. Down the slope of the hill Jacklyn could see that Nigel West Dickens had indeed drawn a small crowd and there were yet more still wandering over. She sighed and clucked her horse up and began to make her own way down there, following her shadow where it rambled forth beneath her.

 

 

"Friends! Hard working souls of..."

For a moment West Dickens fumbled for words as he seemed to have forgotten the setting of this particular farce. "Ah, Cholla Springs! Gather round, gather round. Do you suffer from rheumatism? Lumbago? Acute, chronic, sciatic, neurologic, or inflammatory pain? Well, I represent the only company that makes the genuine article. That cures headaches, neuralgia, earache, toothaches, backaches, swellings, sprains, sore chest, swelling of the throat, contracted chords and muscles, anxieties and ravaged nerves, stiff joints, wrenches, dislocations, cuts and bruises! And, it adds vitality and vigor to the healthy man."

Jacklyn hitched her horse at the corral and wandered over, standing near the back. A couple of men who noticed her gave her strange looks but otherwise most kept their focus on the performance.

"Well, can ye prove it, old man?" called out a fellow from the front of the crowd.

West Dickens kept nodding. "Oh, I'm sure there's some customer here who could prove the qualities by taking a drink right now!"

He scanned the crowd. When he spotted Jacklyn he widened his eyes and raised his brows. "What's this? Would you come up here a moment, dear lady? Right up here!"

Jacklyn stood there staring at him. All eyes were on her. A few of the men mumbled amongst themselves, waggling their brows and gesturing. It was ultimately her pride that urged her forth and she begrudgingly made her way to the front of the crowd.

"That's the spirit! Let's have a round of applause for our volunteer. Gentlemen, please pay attention. This poor, disadvantaged woman, entirely unknown to me, will demonstrate the effects of Dr. West Dickens' Own Patent Tonic. If you would please, madam."

He handed her a bottle and she eyed it a moment and took a long swig. The contents were oily and foul and she immediately gagged on the taste. West Dickens put a hand on her shoulder and took the bottle, continuing his spiel while she recovered.

"Be you a cowpoke, or athlete, this miraculous elixir, developed from the wisdom of the East, keeps the muscles supple, and relaxes the chords. It loosens the joints, and gives a feeling of youth and vigor to the whole system! Not possible, I hear you say. Well, doubt no longer. Faith can move mountains, but I ask not of faith. I am a man of science, and today science will be vindicated! Take this woman here. I'm about to ask her to do something well outside of her purview. Your eyesight is greatly improved, is that not so, madam?"

She blinked at him a few times. "If you say so."

"Ah! You heard it here, folks!" cried West Dickens. If he were at all frustrated by Jacklyn's difficult stoicism he hid it well. "You heard her! What a good sport she is. Now, gaze over yonder at that porch, if you would. If you squint, you may just be able to make out the cow skull that's hanging there. Go ahead, my dear lady. Shoot that skull, and demonstrate the miraculous eyesight and marksmanship you now possess."

Jacklyn eyed the skull. She pulled her revolver and aimed and fired and the skull exploded onto the porch in a hail of white slivers.

Several folk muttered amongst each other in surprise and a couple of them clapped.

"Remarkable!" called West Dickens. "The eyesight of an eagle, the steadiness of a practiced hand. And from a woman, no less! All that's to my patented Miracle Elixir, ladies and and gentlemen."

A skeptic took a step forward from the crowd. Big and burly, eyes narrowed in doubt.

"This man is a fraud," he said, thrusting his finger towards West Dickens. "Anyone could make that shot, even a woman."

"Tell 'em, Aquila," called his friend from beside him, the same man who had asked for proof moments earlier.

Aquila looked to Jacklyn, his scowl deepening. "If your eye is so damn sharp how abouts you shoot my hat out of the air."

"I can do more than that, friend," said Jacklyn.

He blinked at her. "What was that?"

West Dickens, sensing danger, laughed off the threat and put a hand on Jacklyn's shoulder. "My friends, our lovely volunteer has been challenged to shoot a gentleman's hat out of the sky above our heads!"

Aquila grunted and removed his hat, holding it to his side. "You can fool these people, but you ain't foolin me. Now let's just see how sharp you is with a _moving_ target!"

He flung his arm upwards, the hat spinning as it ascended. Jacklyn allowed it to reach the zenith of its climb towards the heavens before putting two shots through the crown. When it fell back into Aquila's outstretched hand his expression of triumph collapsed into one of bewilderment. "What the hell?"

Now folk were excited. Several were eyeing Jacklyn. Some had stepped up to the display to handle the bottles themselves. West Dickens watched them greedily, sharklike, his own face flush with the prospect of money yet to be pocketed.

"Have you ever seen such an eye?" he said, feeding their interest. "Behold the power of the elixir! She plucked it right out of the sky!"

Aquila was still holding his hat, fuming and irate. He threw the ruined thing on the ground and took a few steps forward. "Hey. Hey!"

Jacklyn looked at him. He had both of his balled fists held at his sides. "What, you think you can put a hole in a man's hat and just walk away, do you?! Well it ain't work like that around here. I don't give a shit if you're just some woman in man's clothes, I'll kick your ass all the same."

A few people seemed offended at such a prospect. Others tittered in anticipation. Near the back there were already a couple of people making bets. Jacklyn gave Aquila a meaningful look. "Think long and hard, friend. You don't want someone like me layin you out."

"Especially not after she's been empowered by my patented elixir!" laughed West Dickens nervously, clearly worried about the newest development. "Come now, my friends, I think our other demonstrations have proven its strength."

Aquila was having none of it, already he was a man wronged and he knew there were no options save further violence. "Are you threatenin me?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "I don't make threats. I'm tellin you I'll whip your ass, and that statement is as good as notarized."

He bared his teeth and lunged forward, powerful in his sheer size but clumsy and slow. Jacklyn ducked his heavy fist and elbowed him hard in the ribs. He turned, swinging again, but a hard punch to his gut knocked out his wind and he was felled by a left jab to his jaw and then another to the other side. He slumped down to his knees, dazed and cloudy-eyed. Jacklyn did not administer the coup de gras and instead kicked him fairly gently in the chest, laying him out in the dirt to stare blankly at the wide and bright sky above him.

"Good grief! Can you believe that?" said West Dickens, not quite believing it himself. "A strong, virile man cleanly beaten hand-to-hand by a woman. The power of the elixir truly knows no bounds!"

Jacklyn had turned away, assuming her part in this act concluded. She did not see that Aquila's friend had approached him where he lay and was pulling him to his feet and feeding his rage.

"Ye gonna let her get away with that?" he asked him. Aquila shook his head rapidly as if trying to regain his senses. His friend kept pointing at Jacklyn. "Ye gonna let a goddamn _woman_ beat ye down like that?"

Jacklyn did not hear him. What caused her to look back were several startled yelps from the people around her. Aquila, still a little unsteady on his feet, was brandishing his weapon at her, face warped by fury. "This ends now, you bitch!"

Jacklyn dropped her hand to her holster and cocked her wrist, the motion automatic and as engrained in her as breathing. The bullet grazed Aquila's fingers and plinked off his gun, breaking it into several pieces as he held it. He shouted out in pain and dropped the remains to the ground.

"Marvelous!" cried West Dickens. "What a marvelous shot! Such accuracy and speed! The kind of deadliness that can only be afforded by the West Dickens' Elixir! Come up, come up, ladies and gentlemen, I have more than enough for you all!"

If any naysayers or doubters remained in that crowd they held their peace and as one they made their way to the carriage, clamoring and sticking their hands in their pockets to dig out bills and coins, some of the less-fortunate consolidating their money to share a bottle between themselves. Aquila was cradling his hand to his chest and grumbling and trying to show his wound to his friend, who rudely shoved him away to procure for himself a bottle of miracles. Aquila looked after him, looked at his bruised hand and at his broken weapon and his ruined hat, and he grunted weakly. "No harm in tryin one bottle, I suppose."

While Nigel West Dickens peddled his elixir Jacklyn had retreated to smoke a cigarette in the shade of an elm tree near the corral. She chewed the inside of her cheek, feeling dirty and low, her expression dour. She was fishing around in her coat pocket for a match when she heard someone call her name.

"Jacklyn."

She froze and looked up. It was Bonnie, approaching her from across the way. Jacklyn stiffened. "Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie was smiling at her but it was slightly off, the brow creased in what could have been concern. "How have you been? I got so used to seeing you at the ranch these last few days I almost missed having you around. What are you doin out in these parts?"

Jacklyn glanced down at her hands. "I'm alright, miss. Just up to no good. What brings you here?"

Bonnie tilted her head at the barn. "Came to pick up a horse. Got here just in time to catch the show."

Jacklyn sighed through her nose. "You saw all that?"

Bonnie nodded. "Saw it all. Very impressive, Jacklyn. Out of curiosity though, just how much credit can Mr. West Dickens' Miracle Elixir take for such a series of feats?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "The only thing that snake oil can take credit for is the burn in my gut and the bad taste in my mouth. I have no idea what the hell he puts in those bottles but I reckon you're just as well off drinkin turpentine."

"I'll keep that in mind. That fool tried settin up shop at the ranch one time. My pa walked out of the house just holdin a shotgun by his side and started asking a lot of questions. Mr. West Dickens hasn't bothered himself with us since then."

"If there's anyone here who deserves a backside full of buckshot it's that shyster."

Bonnie laughed. She seemed to be wavering between asking Jacklyn more questions regarding her whereabouts and her choice in company but held her tongue. "I've heard all about your exploits with the Marshal. How's that going?"

Jacklyn shrugged. "Never meant to get into the business of the law but if it means he'll give me a hand with Bill then I'm sure it'll be worth it."

"Well, you be careful. You plannin on coming back by?"

There was a hopeful note in the question that surprised Jacklyn but still she nodded. "Sure. I'll probably be back by tonight."

Bonnie smiled. "Glad to hear it. Try and stay safe. You seem to get caught up in all sorts of dangerous nonsense."

Jacklyn dipped her head. "Can't promise that, ma'am."

Bonnie lingered a moment as if she might have something else to say but instead she simply waved and left, looking once more over her shoulder as she walked towards the stables. Jacklyn watched her go.

West Dickens had just sent off his final customer and was happily humming to himself as he counted his earnings. When Jacklyn rounded the side of the coach he quickly pocketed the wad of money and gave her a fatuous smile. "That went better than I could have dreamed. You're a ringer, my dear girl."

Jacklyn shook her head. "I'm just glad that my normal job involves chasing down thugs and murderers, not the likes of you. I certainly hope that mess was worth it."

His face fell. "Don't be like that! I haven't just been twiddling my thumbs and letting you do all the manual labor. My contribution comes from the mind, and mine is as sharp as a whip. I've been thinking about your predicament, and I believe I have a solution. I could be your cunning Odysseus. Beware of the Greeks bearing gifts, madam. Williamson had better beware! We will make them into Trojans!"

She peered at him with poorly disguised contempt. "How about you try explaining that again?"

West Dickens sighed. "Nevermind, the metaphor is unimportant. I want you to go see my old friend, Seth. He can come across as a little curious, but I'm sure you two will get on. He's most often found at Coot's Chapel. Just south of Armadillo. He's very devout. Between him and me, we can get those gates to open for you, and you can walk right in! Just like in Homer's great Trojan yarn!"

"I don't really care about whoever the hell Homer is. But fine. I'll go find Seth. In the meantime I'd advise you to keep selling these cures, and keep thinkin about how you plan on payin me back."

Nigel West Dickens nodded in deference. "Of course, of course. Would you like to take one for your journey? I'll discount you at—"

"Don't test me, old man," she warned, and there she left him, flustered and sweating even in the mild heat of the late morning sun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/2/2018: Fairly large edits made to make this story compatible with RDR 2 canon. Major spoilers for this chapter.

When Bonnie looked out her bedroom window the next morning through the hazy fog spilling out the woodlands to the north she spotted a horse hitched in front of the little cabin by the blacksmith's barn. Even at that early hour there was a lamp lit near the window and the shadow of someone moving about within. She watched Jacklyn pass before the glass, fetching her weapons where they were lined up along the table and fastening them to her person. She stood there a moment longer looking outside and then disappeared once more. Though there was no evidence to support or deny her notion Bonnie felt certain that Jacklyn would be at her door that morning.

She did not have to wait long for her guest to make her expected appearance. As she was taking her coffee on the porch-bench she caught sight of Jacklyn walking down the road towards her, hat pushed low to shield her eyes from the rising sun, a cigarette poised between her fingertips. She offered Bonnie a small smile as she approached, one that was swiftly returned.

"Well hello, Miss Marston," said Bonnie, standing as Jacklyn came up to lean against the porch railing.

"Hello, Miss MacFarlane."

"Did you manage to conclude your business with the esteemed Mr. West Dickens?"

"For the time being, I hope," she replied, looking out past the house, again failing to elaborate further. This did not impede Bonnie in the slightest.

"Think you'll be stickin around a while?"

Jacklyn did not answer her immediately and instead offered forth a cigarette from her own half-empty pack, which Bonnie refused with a shake of her head. "Bad habit, Miss Marston."

Jacklyn nodded ruefully, tucking the pack back into her coat pocket. "I know it. I try and quit every now and then but the way I see it I doubt I'll live long enough for a bit of smoke to be the thing that kills me."

She took a long drag and tossed the remains down and crushed the tiny fire out under the heel of her boot. "To answer your question, Miss MacFarlane, no, I'm afraid I don't plan on being here long. Not any longer than I need to be."

"Why is that?"

"Well, I already have a life, or at least I had one before my enlistment into this current occupation, and I have other people I need to answer to, things I need to get squared away."

"Is that right?"

Jacklyn made a vague gesture with her hand. "I suppose you could say I've had many lives, but for the one I want to keep to survive, I have to end the others."

Bonnie leaned over the railing, narrowing her eyes. "You do love to talk in riddles, Jacklyn Marston. Dancin around the actual questions, saying absolutely nothing of substance. Do you do that, I wonder, as a substitute for having somethin interesting to say?"

"You ain't the first to call me out on it so it seems likely, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie sighed in exasperation and sat back on the bench. "Call me Bonnie, you infuriating woman." She looked at her hands, frowning, unsure why Jacklyn's furtiveness upset her the way it did. "Just call me Bonnie. At least do me that favor."

Jacklyn turned her back to her and she stared out over the ranch and the shadows it cast. A rooster crowed and the horses, impatient for their morning feed, called out from their stalls. Jacklyn exhaled and dropped her shoulders and seemed to make up her mind about something. She realized that she was automatically reaching for another cigarette and dropped her hand back to her side. "Miss MacFarlane, a long time ago, I used to be a prostitute."

Bonnie's eyes swung up to the back of Jacklyn's head. She did not turn, and just kept staring at an empty point of space beyond the barn.

"I was that for a time, and then after that I was in a gang. A gang of killers and thieves. I also have a brother, or half-brother, I guess, who was with me through all of it. His name is Alden. He and I were orphaned at a pretty young age, after our father died. Never knew my mother. We spent months on the street after he passed and left us orphans, scavengin and stealin. I kept us fed by horse thievin for a while, til that nearly got me shot. Alden got work as a blacksmith's apprentice but got kicked in the head by a mule when he was fourteen. Lost his voice. Hasn't said a word since, and it ain't easy finding work for a mute boy and a half-breed girl. The man that eventually took us in when no one else would, he fed us, clothed us, gave us a bed to sleep in, but all of it had a price. And I knew we'd be dead if I went back out on my own, so we stayed, along with several other girls and women with origins that weren't any better than mine and were often worse. Alden cleaned and cooked round the place, and I saw to the customers. And I hated every second of it. I don't need or want to go into detail. And there was never anythin I could do about it, not unless I wanted to go a few days without supper. I was always an angry child growin up but livin this life fed a rage in me I eventually lost control of. One night about twenty years ago I'm with a man who came into the hotel. He'd wandered in with a few others, others like him, criminal types. Outlaws. Delinquents. Most of them are with other girls. It's not so different from any other night, but this particular time somethin just snapped in me. I don't recall the particulars too well, but what I do remember is takin that man's belt where it's set on the side of the bed and wrapping it around his neck. He thought he was just getting what he paid for at first and didn't even fight me, not until he ran out of air. He tried fightin me off but it was too late for him. I didn't stop pulling til long after he was dead, after he'd stopped kickin."

Jacklyn paused a moment as if to find her place in a tale she had not shared before. Her eyes had a faraway and glassy look to them. She sighed and cleared her throat and then she continued:

"One of the men who came in with the others heard the commotion from the bar and stepped into the room. He saw me there, naked, settin atop his man with his eyes half-bulged out of his head, his tongue purple, my hands still grippin the belt. He just stood there for a time, staring at us, his hand on his pistol. I thought he was goin to shoot me. Instead he sighed, and smiled a little, and he looked at me and said he never liked that fella anyway. I didn't know what to say, or what to do. He kept lookin at me and then he asked me my name. He asked me if I’d ever shot a gun, ridden a horse. Asked me how long I’d been doin what I’d been doin. He asked me what I wanted out of life. I still didn't know what to say. I thought he must’ve been half-crazy. But then he asked if I wanted to never have to do this again. I said yes. So he told me to stand off to the side of the bed. He took the rest of the man's clothes off and put them in my arms. Then he offered me the dead man's gun, and this is what he said to me: 'We shoot fellas as need shootin, save fellas as need savin, feed fellas as need feedin. Right now, you're needing savin. Tomorrow, you could be the judge of what those fellas need.' To me, coming from where I was, powerless, naked, standin there after committing my first murder, I'd never heard anything better. If I stayed they'd hang me. I thought this stranger standin before me offering me a gun was my deliverer. So I took Alden and followed that man into the night, and I followed him for many, many years after. That man's name was Dutch van der Linde. The rest of his gang never questioned my presence, nor the absence of the man I killed. I was simply reckoned among their number, given the dead man's horse and told to ride. And so I did. I came to find out I wasn't even the only woman with them. There were others, other girls who used to do what I did, others who had left other gangs for somethin better. But most of them weren't gunslingers. They were the gang's eyes and ears. They picked up gossip where the men couldn't. For me though, it made more sense to pick up a rifle. I could ride, and I could shoot, and I had no interest in playin the same games I had been playin. So it didn't take long for me to become a regular part of Dutch's operation. And, well, the life he'd brought me into seemed one that I'd been meant for. We robbed banks, trains, stagecoaches. Killed some folk we didn't like. We worked under the belief that we were taking from those who had too much, and giving it to those who didn't have enough. Most of our spoils went to those who were much worse off than we were. Some of us were idealists, some of us were lost children, some of us were just angry killers, but we all rode together, and for each other. And Dutch..."

Jacklyn's voice faded off. She dropped her gaze. "Dutch, he taught me things. Taught me how to read, how to write, how to carve an existence for myself in a world that had cast me aside. Taught me there are few injustices that a bullet can't solve. He was more a father to me and Alden than our own, and he—"

She paused once more. Her face was tense, her eyes hard. When she spoke again her tone was clipped and terse, and yet she continued as though compelled. "It doesn't matter, I guess. That life, it was over for a while and we just didn't realize it. Not til it was too late. Dutch lost his mind. Became the man he said he never wanted to become. Started killin in cold blood. Stopped trustin those of us that had given all we had to him. The beginning of the end was a raid gone wrong in Blackwater. On a ferry. Whole thing fell apart and we got split up, fled into the mountains. I was shot, ended up split from the rest. I was attacked by wolves in the snow. That's how I got these here," she said, pointing at her cheek, at the three long jagged scars. "Lost my horse. Would've froze to death if a couple of the boys hadn't come for me. After that it was one tragedy after another, with us always on the run, always one step behind, until Dutch left me to get arrested, left me to hang, and finally left me to die. So I took Alden and ran. I saw Dutch one more time a few years after, watched him vanish into the mountains. I haven't seen him since. I have no idea if he's even still alive. A lot of the gang is scattered, or just dead."

Bonnie sat and waited a time for Jacklyn to keep going. When she did not Bonnie leaned forward slightly on her bench and gently cleared her throat, her curiosity getting the better of her manners. "How did you end up here?"

Jacklyn shrugged. "I suppose it's a strange combination of fortune and misfortune. After we left the gang, Alden and I tried findin work where we could. He had an easier time than I did. He's a good blacksmith and him not talkin isn't a problem with most folk. But people don't want to hire someone that looks like me. Tried getting jobs ranching, but they wouldn't take women on as hands, and I was too proud to cook or clean. So I hunted. Sold meat and pelts. Did that for a few years all over West Elizabeth and New Hanover, tryin to keep a low profile, cause I still had a price on my head. Now and then I did some bounty hunting, freelance work. We saved up enough to buy some land, build a cabin. I had a the fool notion that I'd run my own ranch since no one would let me work theirs. So I got some chickens, fenced off a little garden. We had just put a barn up when one afternoon I get back from runnin errands in Blackwater and Alden is gone. Just gone without a trace. I tear the place apart lookin for him. When I step outside to check the barn there are two federal agents standin on my porch. One of them is pointing a gun at my head, and the other is holding a warrant for my arrest. They take me back to Blackwater and tell me they have my brother, and they'll be keepin him until I do what they tell me to do. If I refuse, I'll get the noose, and he'll spend the rest of his life in prison. So, here I am. To pay off my debts to society I've been tasked with tracking down and either capturing or killing my former brothers-in-arms. I don't know exactly how many I'll need to fulfill my contract, and I don't know how many of them are already dead or imprisoned. Bill is the only one they've sent me for so far."

Bonnie sat there staring at her hands. Jacklyn reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear. She would not look at her either. She stood in silence for a time and finally gave in and sighed and lit another cigarette. She smoked it down to nothing and tossed it aside and studied the dark mark that it burned into the dirt.

"If it were just me, I wouldn't care," she said. "I'd tell them to put a bullet in my head and go to hell. But Alden... I can't just leave him there. He's the only good thing my father put on this earth. They're holdin him at some sort of work-camp out someplace in Lemoyne, with a bunch of criminals. I owe him a lot, more than what I'll ever be able to pay off. He deserves better than what he's getting, especially since it's my fault he's there in the first place. He never hurt no one, never robbed or threatened or killed folk. He was only there cause I was."

Jacklyn scuffed her boot across the wood. She looked tired and empty, as though someone had drained her of blood. "So, I don't suppose any of this is incredibly interesting to you, Miss MacFarlane, and the tale is just as long and pathetic as I warned, but perhaps now you can understand why I was unwilling to tell you about it."

It was a dismissive conclusion, as though preempting that same response from the listener. But Bonnie looked up at her, at a loss for meaningful words. "No... I understand why now. But I had no idea. You poor woman."

Jacklyn glanced sharply at her over her shoulder as if to scold Bonnie for her pity but she met her eyes and read the guilt in them and stopped herself. She looked away. "I don't blame you for asking. I know what I am. I know that for someone who looks like me, doing what I do, it warrants explanation. It was wrong to keep you in the dark, after all you've done for me, after all your kindness, but I'm used to holdin my cards close to my chest. Perceptions are hard to change, and even in this new country, with everything always changing, memories don't fade. I've lived a life I'll never be able to leave behind, as much as I want to. My father, he was a Scotsman born on the boat to New York. He'd never even laid eyes on his homeland but to hear him talk you'd think he'd never eaten nothing but haggis and wore a kilt. And he hated the English for what they'd done to his great-grandparents that he'd never met. Almost nothin gets forgotten, or forgiven. That's one of the only useful lessons I learned from him."

Bonnie slowly nodded her head. "That's true, especially when it comes to money. And you know, even now, after all his labors, my own father's debts are still terrible. You asked me what I was doing in Blackwater? Had to get a loan. Put the ranch up as collateral. What was in the satchel is all the money we've got left, and we'll have to pay it all off somehow, eventually. Pa doesn't know. I can't bring myself to tell him. It would kill him."

"I know plenty about money troubles," Jacklyn said, fiddling with a spent match. "I was born and grew up in Chicago, lived in a tenement slum downriver from the factory district. You can imagine that the place didn't smell all that pretty. My father was blinded in a barfight when I was little. I don't know how he made enough money to keep a roof over our heads, even with the three of us living as pitifully as we did. He was a mean bastard. Told me every day how much I reminded him of my mother and how much he hated me for it. She was a full-blooded Comanche. Died giving birth to me, far from home. He never told me her name, just that she was a whore, in his words. I'm grateful that she never knew that I followed in her footsteps. And I'm grateful she'll never know what became of me after."

Bonnie looked down at her folded hands. Her coffee sat cold and still beside her feet. "You know, watchin you yesterday, how you handled your weapon and how you bested that man... well, you can't blame me for wondering just how you came to be able to do such things. I guess I just never thought you'd learned to do all of that out of necessity. You've lived a hard life. I'm sorry for being so insistent on you telling me about it."

"Well, I thought about tellin you sooner. I guess I was worried you'd think less of me."

Bonnie was surprised by the earnestness of her answer. "You think I'd judge you for having to live a life like that?"

"Sure. Hell, I would. Normally I wouldn't give a damn about what someone thinks of me but... I don't know. I don't come across many good and honest folk in my line of work, livin the way I do. I'm not associating myself with Mr. West Dickens because I believe he's a fine and upstanding gentleman. And the friend of his I'm trackin down tomorrow is probably worse yet. You're a clear exception, Miss MacFarlane. You're a good person."

Bonnie felt her cheeks flush slightly. "Well, I'm glad you think so. I enjoy spending time with you. I haven't had a friend in... well, it's been years. What you just told me, none of it changes anything. In this life all you can do is work with what you're given, and you weren't given much."

Jacklyn had been watching her as she spoke. A small smile flickered briefly on her lips before vanishing. She looked away. "You know, I made an honest effort to leave this life behind. But now I'm back to where I was. Still just a killer of men, even after all that. The only difference now is that my violence is sanctioned by the federal government. I kill a man so that another man may do his part to cut crime in an area, and a rich man can be elected governor on the back of these promises."

"Civilization is truly a beautiful thing, Miss Marston."

"Truly."

Bonnie stood up and put a hand on Jacklyn's shoulder. She turned her head and regarded her once more but did not move away. "For what it's worth, you aren't just a killer. You've shown me that. You could've bailed on us at any time and you haven't. You've stuck around and you've been helpful and I daresay you've even learned a thing or two. That alone speaks volumes of the person you really are."

Jacklyn seemed to be fighting a smile. She sighed and raised her hand, briefly touching the one that Bonnie had placed on her shoulder. "I don't think I deserve your friendship, Bonnie, but I do appreciate it."

"I know you do. Come on. Sun is well up. I'm gonna to teach you how to herd cattle. Get your mind on something simple and there's few things more simple-minded than cattle."

"Lead the way, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie clicked her tongue. "And here you were doing so well."

They walked side by side down the porch steps. Bonnie kept her hand on Jacklyn's shoulder. "You know, Jacklyn, I'm actually a little more than surprised."

"How's that?"

"Well, I've been mulling it over, wondering just what you were so intent on hidin from me. Had finally settled on the theory that you were secretly a lady reverend here from the city to spread the word of God to us poor sinners here in the backcountry."

"Is that right?"

"You wear enough black for it."

"Pardon me, Miss MacFarlane, but for all the good in you, you're a bit of a smartass."

They fetched their horses and mounted up and wandered towards the cattle pens. Already some of the hands were waiting there either astride their own horses or perched on the fence. Bonnie looked over at her companion. "Thank you for telling me all that," she said, her voice low. "It must have been hard sharing your story with someone you just met."

Jacklyn looked at her. "A little, only because I try not to think about it too much. At first I only started talkin so that you'd quit askin, but I guess it felt kinda good. That's the first time I've said any of that out loud. But you're also the first person to annoy me enough to make me tell it."

Bonnie chuckled. "Well, I won't apologize for being nosy."

"You shouldn't. If I were you, I wouldn't change a thing."

Bonnie blushed and shifted her eyes to the herd where they milled about in the pen. "You have any experience with cattle?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "Rustlin is maybe the only thing I never had much a hand in. One time I tried was with sheep."

"Well, it's not too hard. Herding, I mean. I don't know about rustling. Cattle like to stick together for the most part, the trick is makin sure they all go the same direction. Follow me, we'll get behind them."

They took places at the back of the pen, the cattle eyeing them blankly as they chewed their cud. Bonnie gestured at them. "So we'll each take one side. All you have to do is weave back and forth along the back flank, keep em tight if you can, makes it easier to keep one from wanderin off on their own. You ready?"

Jacklyn nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  
Bonnie motioned for the men to open the gates. The cattle immediately began to move forward, following the leaders at the front of the herd. The women followed them out and up the road out of the ranch and into the pastures that circled the southern perimeter. Bonnie methodically swung back and forth at the back, the rhythm well-practiced and fluid. Jacklyn watched how she did it and then mirrored her, matching her movements across the rear of the herd as they loped through the fields.

"Just like that," called out Bonnie, watching her as she sped up long enough to wrangle in a lone cow who had notions to forge their own trail. "Keep em close. Don't let them herd you."

They slowed down as they approached the pasture and the riders fanned out to surround the herd on all sides as they lowered their heads to graze. Bonnie and Jacklyn stayed close, watching the cattle and locking eyes with each other a moment and looking away and then doing it again. Bonnie chuckled almost nervously, reaching up to tuck a wayward hair behind her ear. "I think you've got it figured out. Maybe you were a cow in a past life, though I'm not too inclined to believe you'd let anyone herd you around."

Jacklyn raised a brow. "If I'm not a cow then what am I?"

"Probably a jackass."

Jacklyn laughed. "Don't be afraid to tell me how you really feel."

"Well, think of it this way," said Bonnie, "you're stubborn to a fault, and you have a bit of a temper. But you're hardy and reliable and people often underestimate you. Of all the stock you could be, I think a donkey might just be the best of them."

Jacklyn regarded her, lips quirked at the corners. "I'm impressed you managed to turn that into a compliment."

Bonnie grinned. "I do try."

She paused, glancing down at her hands. "You said you'd rustled sheep once?"

Jacklyn nodded. "Well, sort of. The rustlin was my idea. Arthur did most of the drivin though."

"Arthur?"

Jacklyn nodded again, though her eyes looked pained. "Yeah. I'll tell you about him someday. Just... maybe not today."

"I understand."

Jacklyn looked out over the cattle, them bellowing and eating and wandering about. "So, what now?"

"It depends. Sometimes I'll stay out here, watch the herd. The men don't usually need too much help until it's time to bring them back in for the night but now and then it's nice to just sit here and take it all in. But you don't have to stay, I'm sure you're busy."

"Are you stayin out here today or headin back?"

Bonnie shrugged. "It's a nice morning. And I don't have anythin pressing to do for a couple hours. I think I might just stay here a while."

Jacklyn nodded, eyes looking out past the cattle and the fields beyond. "Then if you don't mind too much, I think I'll stay a while too."

Bonnie turned to her. "Oh, I think I can put up with you a little bit longer."


	5. Chapter 5

The moon was still hanging low in the abyss of the night sky when Jacklyn rose and absconded from the ranch early the following morning. Shrouded by thin clouds it cast an alien glow upon the world beneath and as the sun rose steadily on the opposite end of the sky the pale predawn light took on a dim red cast. She rounded the edge of the canyon as she had before, descending into the desert, but as she loped along the trail she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she pulled her horse into a halt. She looked around. The ground was flat and featureless up to the edge of the cliff where it dropped down to the coast and then the water beyond. The geometric forms of the mountain range far to the south were just coming into view. At the edge of the drop-off she could see the dark outline of a man standing between the trees, staring out over the river. She sat there and watched him for a time. He never moved. She rolled her head side to side, her neck and shoulders tense as if she were sensing danger. She waited another minute and turned her horse off the trail and into the plaingrass towards where he stood. As she approached he still did not turn to face her nor did he turn when she dismounted. He wore a black suit with a black top hat and held his clasped hands behind his back. He seemed to be unarmed yet was completely unthreatened by the stranger approaching from out of his line of sight. It was only when she was about ten feet behind him that he finally acknowledged her presence.

"Welcome, Jacklyn Marston."

She froze, eyes on the back of his head. "Do I know you?"

"I hope so," the stranger said, finally turning towards her. "I seem to know you."

She studied his face. There were individual attributes she recognized: the shape of his nose, the melancholic eyes and the way he held his mouth below the black mustache, but none of these features together created a man she had seen before and she shook her head at him. "I'm pretty good with faces."

His eyes were as dark and flat as the buttons on his coat and held no light or warmth in them as he smiled at her. "Are you now? Do you remember Heidi McCourt's face?"

"How do you know about that?"

"She was the girl Dutch van der Linde shot in the head on that raid on the ferry," he said, ignoring her question. "The same one you got shot on. Pretty girl, until her eye was hangin out by a thread of tendon, and her brain was plastered over a wall."

She remembered the girl the same way the stranger described her. But still she shook her head at him. "Not really."

He seemed to know that she was lying. He kept smiling at her. "Then why would you remember me, friend? You've forgotten far more important people than me."

"What's your game?"

"I don't have a game, Jacklyn. Sometimes I just wish I knew more about life. I wish I'd had better guidance."

"Don't we all," she said coldly, not having the faintest notion of what else to say to that but he seemed to only pause to take in the view across the water before he turned back to her.

”Don’t we all,” he repeated softly. “Some of us are more fortunate than others. Friend of mine, he's drunk as a skunk, in the saloon at Thieves Landing," he said. "I think he's going to be unfaithful to his dear wife. Why don't you head over there when you get chance, and see if you can advise him on how best to proceed."

Jacklyn blinked at him, her temper suddenly flaring same as the light bleeding out from the sun as it broke the horizon. "Who do you think I am?"

He peered at her, hollow-eyed and still with that infuriating smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. "That remains to be seen, Jacklyn. Just if you've got the time."

”You and your friend can go to hell. I ain’t some messenger girl.”

He smiled and turned from her then and assumed the exact posture he had maintained during her initial approach, and like that he was as unreachable to her as something carved of stone. She stood there glaring wordlessly only a moment longer before she turned on her heel and left him there, mounting up and vacating that cursed place at a dead run down the ridge without even a second glance cast behind her back.

 

 

As she neared Coot's Chapel she could tell that the site had been abandoned for near on a decade. The windows were broken and one of the great oak doors had long been ripped from its hinges and was propped on the steps leading inside. There was a pitiful nag tied to the wrought-iron fence in front of the graveyard. Jacklyn hitched her horse beside the wretched thing and stepped into the chapel. Refuse and rat droppings were strewn all across the floor, the pews toppled, the altar gone entirely. When she looked up towards the roof she saw a furry mass of chittering, living things, wings tucked into their sides, some with their demonic little faces regarding her with bared fangs. In the ruins of this holy house she felt the same unease she had while in the presence of the black-suited man and so she turned and stepped back outside.

She walked around the side of the chapel proper in time to see a spray of dirt as it was thrown out of an open grave. She watched it. A shovel was tossed out of the hole. She passed into the cemetery through a gap in the fence. There was a rancid stew hanging over a cold fire just inside. A bedroll tucked beside it.

Crouched in the grave was a living man, working at prying off the lid of the coffin with his bare hands, his fingers working at the nails. When he pulled it off the smell that rushed heavenward was enough to make Jacklyn's eyes water yet the man seemed entirely unperturbed as he began to fish through the rotten corpse's pockets, mumbling to himself all the while. She glanced at the name on the tombstone. Josephine Byrd.

"Excuse me, are you Seth?" she managed, watching in disgust the grisly scene unfolding before her.

He started and spun to look at her. He was bone-thin and filthy, black up to the elbows with soil, his colorless hair hanging lank and greasy around his haunted countenance, his eyes bloodshot like they were locked in their cages by hot wires. His lips were cracked and bleeding and many of this teeth were broken or missing. He looked like a thing adapted to life in a cave, small and hunkered and pale, and he did not make an attempt to hide the immediate contempt he carried for Jacklyn at being interrupted.

"Who're you?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"My name is Jacklyn Marston. I'm an associate of Mr. West Dickens. He told me I could find you here."

He immediately turned away from her once he realized that she was not there to apprehend him. "Well, you done found me. Now goodbye, Jacklyn Marston. It's been a pleasure."

With that he resumed his search. When he found the pockets empty he removed the dead woman's shoes and checked those as well.

"Loathe as I am to admit it, we need your assistance," Jacklyn continued, dauntless. "Mr. West Dickens and I. We're tryin to get a wagon into Fort Mercer. I've been told you could be helpful regarding such a matter. I'd be happy to pay you for your time."

He did not seem to fathom her or care for her words. Instead he tossed the rotting shoes down and peered up at her from his crouch on the edge of the coffin. "Let me be frank for one second," said Seth. "I don't want nothin to do with you, or West Dickens, or no one else. I hate people, even ones I ain't met yet. It was people that got me in this mess in the first place."

"What mess?"

He stood up suddenly, his eyes frantic and oddly bright in the murk of the grave. "What mess?! Look at me! Scramblin around, lookin for maps, half insane. I ain't washed in six months, my hair's fallin out, my mind's goin."

"What happened?"

"What happened? My partner! He stole half my map! I never would have done that to him. Never. Look at me!"

He clawed himself out of the grave and stood before her, hunched over, reeking of the dead. As he turned and began to pace back and forth along the edge of the hole she could see the outline of his ribs and his spine beneath the ratty shirt. His threadbare pants were held up with knots of twine to keep them from falling down around his ankles.

"Who did this to you?" she asked him.

He stopped pacing. His face was drawn, miserable. "My partner. My man. My boy. Moses Forth."

He spoke the name was like a curse, like it pained him for his mouth to move to utter it. His face twisted, ugly and goblin-like. "I don't have the facility to tell you what I would've done for that man... and what I would do to him now for stealin my half of that goddamn map!"

"And what's the map for?"

He fixed her with a nasty glare. "Ain't gonna tell you that. I ain't. You can't make me tell. It's mine, you hear? All mine."

She folded her hands behind her back, mustering forth whatever modicum of patience she still possessed. "Fine. Where's this Moses now?"

Seth swallowed. "He's at Benedict Point. The law got him for exhumin. Some people, they feel different. Not Moses. He and I are the same. The selfsame."

His voice had gentled. Jacklyn sighed, considering her options. "If we go find Moses, get you your map back, will you agree to assist me?"

He dropped his eyes. They drifted to the corpse he had just been handling and he spoke to it instead of to her. "Maybe. Maybe I can. Once I have the map."

"You know how to get there? I'm not from around here."

"As the crow flies," he said. "I try and stay off the roads."

"Whatever suits you," said Jacklyn.

 

 

They mounted up, he on his bald-backed nag, and they took off into the desert, chasing their shadows across a barren wilderness as flat and true as a spirit level.

"What happened to you that you sank so low?" she asked him as they rode. "Diggin up graves and lootin from the dead. And don't try blamin that map again."

"Hypocrites, the whole damn lot of you!" he cried over the wind. "Are you sayin it's better to steal from the livin? They're corpses. They don't care none."

"Those people have been laid to rest. Life is hard, then they die, now they've got you clambering all over them, stickin your hands where they don't belong."

Seth glared spitefully at her. "You don't know nothin. I talk to them, long after they been forgotten by every other fella. I tell them it's alright to be scared and alone. I embrace them when they is stinkin and rotten. Folk is cold and heartless all their lives. To me, they get warmer when they're actually cold and heartless. Surely that makes sense. Even to you."

"I won't pretend to understand you."

He continued, slipping further into the dark reaches of his own diseased mind. "Are we really livin anyway? Do you exist outside my mind? Maybe we're both havin the same dream and when we wake up we'll die."

"I certainly seem to be in some kind of nightmare."

They rode in silence for a time. Eventually they intercepted the railroad and they turned and followed the tracks beneath a jagged wall of rock. Seth kept turning around on his horse, glancing over his shoulder as if in fear of being followed. When they were finally forced onto the trail he shuddered under his breath and began to mumble to himself.

"Have you looked in the cave, Seth?" he said in a strange, childlike voice. "No no no, it's very dark!"

Jacklyn glanced at him. "What did you say?"

"Nothin. I said nothin."

"I just heard you say somethin."

He fervently shook his head. "You're a crazy woman, you know that? You should get that looked at. Maybe you got the hysteria."

"Seth, I was told you could help me, but I'm not even sure you know what day it is."

"I don't," he laughed. "I can't even tell you what year it is!"

Jacklyn exhaled. "I'm gonna make life incredibly unpleasant for Nigel West Dickens. For wasting my goddamn time."

He glanced at her. "You want into Fort Mercer, right? You tryin to get Bill Williamson? I met Williamson and Deek and all them boys. Sometimes they call me on when they got some special job needs doin. I got a reputation as a man who do things most other fellas won't."

"I don't doubt that."

"I reckon I can get you in there no problem. After I get the map. And after I do terrible things to Moses Forth."

"Another treasure hunter losing everythin in the search for nothin. I don't think I've ever met a sane one of you."

"You can't be," he said with strange urgency. "You have to be willin to give up everything. Even your mind. I've lost it all, partner. My wife, my children, my business. Good riddance to them! I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't wash, and I don't care. Used to be about the money, but even that don't matter. It's the search itself. The depths to which a man will sink to claim what's his before someone else does. You have to lose it all before you can find a damn thing."

”I sure hope it’s worth it.”

Seth looked away. ”Always, partner. Always.”

He fell silent and remained so. Benedict Point was a small settlement pocketed within the cliff beside it and largely dominated by the presence of the Southwestern Railroad Company. As they approached they slowed their horses and eventually halted on the outskirts. There was no one outside save for two lawmen posted in front of a small building at the end of a row of houses.

Seth dismounted his horse and edged closer, studying the place. Then he nodded. "As far as I know, Moses is bein held in that shack yonder. Can you distract them fools while I sneak in for a quick parlay with that sonovabitch?"

"I'll think of somethin," Jacklyn said, hopping down off her own horse.

He nodded again and hid himself behind the station, hunkered down in the scrub overgrowth. Jacklyn stood there a moment longer. From where she stood she could see one of the deputy's horses hitched in front of the station. She walked forward onto the wooden walkway, keeping her eyes forward. The deputies had been talking between themselves but fell silent as she approached and she could feel their eyes on her. Fifteen feet from the horse she broke into a sprint and she took a running leap, swinging her leg over its back and immediately spurring it forward. The poor beast crashed through the hitching post and took off with her on it. The deputies shouted and ran to fetch more horses. She slowed the animal down just long enough to let them catch sight of her and then took off once more, leaning close to the animal's neck to avoid the bullets sailing overhead as they chased her down.

She took a chance and rode west into the hills, turning at the last moment onto a narrower path that winded back up into the low mountains, a treacherous climb that no sane rider would take at a full gallop. She heeled her hostage onward, not looking back until she could no longer hear the hoofbeats of her pursuers behind. She turned off the trail and onto a flat promontory of rock overlooking the path she had just taken. She leapt off the horse and quickly hobbled it, leaning hard against its shoulder with her leg behind its knee and bringing it to the ground with a long groan. She laid down on its head and peered over the edge of the ridge. Below her she could see the deputies. They had halted and were looking up and down the switchbacks. She could hear them speaking to each other. One cursed and spat and they turned back around, taking the trail heading the opposite way. Jacklyn laid there a moment longer and then stood, urging the horse up off the ground and mounting back up for the return ride.

When she arrived back in Benedict Point she dismounted and jogged back towards Seth. He was crouched beside the shack, wearing an odd smile. "Good job gettin rid of them fools. I'm gonna present myself now."

He rapped on the door like a hangman might when coming to lead the doomed to the noose. "Oh, Moses!" he sang. "You have a visitor!"

"Oh my god," said a voice from the other side of the wall. A face appeared at the window, pale with terror. "Seth?"

"Moses. What a joy."

"They arrested me. It ain't my fault!"

There was genuine fear in the waver of his voice. Seth smiled wider and trailed a finger along the edge of the door. "Moses, Moses," he said sweetly. "I'm gonna come in there and cut the skin right off your goddamn body. I'm gonna scalp you like an Injun. I'm gonna—."

The door burst open. Moses, in a panic, had managed to break the lock with his shoulder and took off screaming, shoving down Seth when he tried to grab him. He looked like a man possessed, the whites of his eyes huge and wildlooking. "Get the hell away from me!" he screamed.

"Grab that slippery bastard!"

Jacklyn took the unlucky man roughly by the collar when he attempted without success to shove past her. She pushed him to the ground onto his belly and with her knee on his back bound his wrists and ankles. He yelped and cried out, begging her to let him go. When he was secure she hauled him up to his knees and presented him before Seth like a lamb before the sacrificial altar. He was not in much better shape than his associate. Thin and stunted, with open sores on his face and neck. Tears welled in his eyes and his lip was bleeding from having his face shoved in the dirt. Seth had a dangerous gleam in his eyes and when he bent down to look Moses in the face his mouth was near to frothing.

"Now, Moses. You sonovabitch. Where is my goddamn map?"

"Damn you Seth," Moses spat. "Damn you! You twisty little freak! I ain't tellin you shit!"

Seth smiled, his rotten, yellow teeth hanging crooked in his skull-like visage. He pulled a small and incredibly sharp-looking knife forth from his boot. He held it very close to Moses' eye. Moses flinched back, eyes locked on the blade, but Seth grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched him forward. He very gently pressed the tip of the knife at the corner of Moses' eyelid. "You ain't? Oh, Moses, I guess I'm gonna slice you up piece by piece then, 'til you find your tongue."

Moses flicked his panicked gaze to Jacklyn as if she might deliver him from the hell in which he had found himself. She knelt down beside them. "Moses, this man has gone crazy in the sun. I'd suggest you take my advice and start talkin."

"Quiet, Marston," Seth uttered between clenched teeth, voice shaking with barely-controlled fury, spittle landing on Moses' tear-streaked face. "I wanna cut into a bonafide man's flesh! I ain't ever done me a live one."

He pressed the blade into Moses' skin and he screamed out, wiggling frantically. "Odd Fellow's Rest! It's at Odd Fellow's Rest! Now let me go! Let me go!"

Seth paused, the edge of the knife still resting in the shallow cut he had made in Moses' eye socket. Jacklyn glanced at him. "Seth," she said.

He snarled but pulled the knife away. He regarded Moses where he knelt, his eyes on the ground. "Well, ain't that a damn shame. I was startin to enjoy myself."

Seth bent forward again. Moses immediately flinched back from him. He pointed at Moses' crotch, at the urine darkening it. When he spoke it was a calm whisper. "I think you gone and done pissed yourself, Moses."

Moses would not look at him. Seth kicked him in the chest and he fell back with a yelp, rolling about in the dirt like a worm, crying out as they straightened up and left him laying there.

They did not speak again until they had ridden well away from Benedict Point. When they had cleared the tracks and found themselves once more in the barrens of the desert they pulled their horses up. In that remote and heat-blasted landscape devoid of life or movement save them they looked like two of the apocryphal horsemen waiting for their fellows.

Seth fished around in his wretched saddlepack and brought forth a small square of paper. "This here's an official forged pardon from the governor hisself. Got it as payment runnin a job for your boy Williamson. You can have it as thanks for helpin me with that rat bastard Moses. Those deputies likely stuck a bounty on your head for horse thievin and you ain't exactly inconspicuous."

Jacklyn took the paper and pocketed it. "Appreciate it. Don't worry yourself with thanks, though. Just help me when I come asking."

He nodded, a hint of the civilized creature he used to be showing through for just a moment. "Sure thing. You done me a service. I'll be there."

With that he flew off across the plain, death's caretaker upon his pale and skeletal mount. Jacklyn sat her horse and watched the sky to the east. Beyond the flat-topped canyons was the MacFarlane ranch. Further still and shrouded and bleak at the edge of the wetlands was Thieves Landing.

She considered the distance. She eyed the position of the sun crossing the firmament. She recalled the stranger she had met that very morning and held her cheek between her teeth.

"Goddamn it."

She sighed and clucked her horse up. They loped beyond the scrublands and towards the ridge. By early evening she had reached the ranch. She did not check her pace and she rode out past the gate and into a murky forest of mangrove and a tangle of reeds. Through the night she kept riding, compelled by forces well outside her control or the control of any earthly being who walked those grounds.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, this... Marston woman. When do I get to meet her?"

Bonnie peered at her father over her coffee cup. She had spent the morning telling him of what had happened at the ranch in his absence, about the unusual guest sleeping in one of the work cabins. "She'll show up eventually. Comes by nearly every morning to see if I need any help."

"And you trust her?"

"Yes, father."

"Look," he said. "I don't want to judge no one by first impressions, haven't even met the girl yet, but when Amos was tellin me about her he made it sound like she's some sort of... government assassin."

"Well, that's not entirely untrue, but you know as well as I do how prone Amos is to flights of fancy," Bonnie conceded. "She's here to get Bill Williamson though. It's not like she's huntin down anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I suppose not. But still."

"She's been a real help, pa. And she can ride and shoot like nothing you've ever seen. You'll like her. You just have to meet her yourself."

He sighed and sat back heavily in his chair. "Alright. If you trust her I suppose I can too."

There was a knock at the door. Bonnie placed her cup down and gave her father a meaningful look. "Speak of the devil."

She was standing on the porch as usual, common in her new routine. When Bonnie opened the door Jacklyn gave her a minute dip of her head. She looked weary but intact and she offered Bonnie a small smile. "Good mornin, Miss MacFarlane."

"Jacklyn. How are you?"

"Just fine, ma'am."

"You look a little tired. And I don't recall seein your horse at the cabin last night when I was turning in."

"I got in a little late is all," she said. "Had a bit of an errand to run. Is there anything I can do for you today?"

Bonnie waved her inside. "I'm sure I can think of somethin. Come on in a moment though. I want you to meet someone."

Jacklyn stepped in and removed her hat. As she entered the house she met the inquisitive gaze of an impressively built gentleman seated at the far end of Bonnie's parlor. He reminded Jacklyn of a bull with his broad shoulders and his flat mouth beneath the heavy mustache. Of his daughter there was little resemblance save the clear blue of his eyes. He stood up from his seat as she and Bonnie moved towards him.

"Jacklyn Marston, this is my father, Drew MacFarlane."

Drew looked her over and seemed unsure as to how to properly greet her until she held out a hand and he shook it genially within his own big palm. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Marston. Please."

He gestured at the empty seat beside him and she sat and crossed one knee over the other. He kept studying her, somewhat dimly, until Bonnie moved behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder and he shook his head at himself. "So, miss, my daughter tells me you're on some secret mission to remove some undesirables from the county."

Jacklyn took an offered teacup from Bonnie's hands. "You could say that. I'm not so sure how secret it is anymore though. I need to say, I'm very grateful for you and your daughter's continued hospitality."

"Ah, don't worry about it. We don't want no-goods like Williamson runnin about either. Doing what they wish, flummoxing the lawmen. And besides, Bonnie here thinks the world of you. Way she talks you'd almost think—"

Bonnie shook her head, a light blush rising in her cheeks. "Hush, father."

"Well, anyway, she told me she found you injured on the side of the road. How are you healing up?"

"Just fine," said Jacklyn. "But she's puttin it lightly. I would've died if she hadn't come across me."

Bonnie shook her head. "You got shot with a varmint rifle. I bet even if I'd left you there you could've pulled that little bullet out yourself when you woke up."

"You jest, Miss MacFarlane, but you know as well as I do that if you wasn't you that found me it would've been somethin far less kind."

Drew nodded. "This can be a cruel land. We've lived here for near on thirty years now. Came here from the east. It had never been settled. For a decade we fought the Indians. You look to be one yourself. They were tough men. Toughest I've ever met. Then we had outlaws and we had drought, and we had smallpox, terrible winters, cholera. I've buried more of my children than I've raised. Buried my wife when Bonnie was just a little girl."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jacklyn said.

"I've seen strong men wither under that unforgiving sun. Whole herds of cattle take sick and die. But I've never once doubted my life here. And then I hear about this so-called federal government, sendin out agents to covertly murder people, then I start to worry. I mean, alright, Williamson is a menace and men like him are the plague, but ain't a government agent a worse menace? In all that it symbolizes, I mean."

"I believe you're right. I don't like it anymore than you but sometimes we find ourselves forced to walk a path that we would not have chosen. I hold no more love for the government than you do. Probably much less."

Drew nodded as if pleased by her answer. "Well, regardless, you're a brave individual. Never thought in my day I'd see a woman doin work like this but I suppose it's just another sign of the times. Just know I trust you more than I trust your employers, and when you see them you can tell them that we don't want to live like that out here. Sneakin around, spyin. It's preposterous."

Jacklyn dipped her head at him. "And I agree with you whole-heartedly."

He nodded and reached over, clapping his big hand on her shoulder. "Good, good. Well, I won't insult you any further. Come on, Bonnie, we've got things to do. It was fine meeting you, Marston. You let me know if you need anything."

Bonnie looked over at Jacklyn. "Miss Marston, would you care to join us this morning? It's daddy's favorite pastime, apart from political discourse, that is."

"What is?"

Drew stood and pulled a lasso over one of his arms. "Breakin in horses. Amos spotted a little herd just west of here that we were wanting to take a look at. Come with us. I've heard from Bonnie you're a good rider."

Jacklyn shrugged. "Good enough."

"Come on then."

They walked towards the door. Bonnie handed her another lasso. "Here. You'll be needing one of these. You use one before?"

"Sure. Wasn't always on horses though."

"I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that."

"That's likely for the best, ma'am."

They stepped outside and mounted up. Jacklyn rode up next to Drew with Bonnie behind. "You have interesting theories on the government, Mr. MacFarlane. All of them have some truth to them. They're a lot of snakes and liars."

He nodded. "You're right, nothin theoretical about it. You'd know, bein on their payroll."

"They can go to hell, if you ask me. They'd steal a coin off a dead man's eye."

He nodded again. "You're dead right, Marston. Dead right. Now, I don't know much about politics, but I know we're only as free as they say we are. Power is like a drink. The more you have, the more you want. And there's few men who can handle it."

Bonnie loped up beside the two of them as they rode past the gates and into the prairie. "There's things in this country a woman could run much better, if you ask me."

Jacklyn chuckled. "Miss MacFarlane, I'd be inclined to agree with you."

"There they are."

The herd was grazing beneath the eastern ridge of the canyon, perhaps six strong, with a couple of gangly colts bounding along through grass nearly as tall as them. Painted and wild, they milled about and spun and took off like a flock of birds at the approaching riders. The three of them picked out a big bay at the rear and swung their lassos. The animal reared and twisted around the ropes, hollering and lunging. At Drew's urging Jacklyn leapt from her horse and reeled in the rope and at a dead run grabbed a handful of mane and swung her leg over the horse's back. He snorted and bucked and spun like a tiny dervish, furious beneath her. Bonnie and Drew shouted instructions. She held on and spurred him and finally he quit fighting, and stood with his legs sprawled and trembling beneath him, blowing wildly through flared nostrils. Drew tossed a rope around his neck and she dismounted.

"Damn, girl," he said. "You're a natural at that."

Jacklyn grinned from where she stood on the ground. "It's old-fashioned stubbornness finally workin in my favor."

Drew nodded. "When it comes to animals, sometimes that's all it takes. I think that's enough activity for an old-timer like me though. I'll take him back to the ranch."

Bonnie trotted Jacklyn's horse back to her. "Mount back up. Let's get another one before heading back."

This time they picked a small and wild pinto mare and afterward Jacklyn dismounted with blisters on her fingers. Bonnie lassoed the mare and led her calling out back to the main road.

"Wilder than I thought she was going to be. Little quick ones like this make excellent horses for herdin cattle though, when they're broke. Might end up keepin her. Let's get back to the ranch."

Jacklyn rode up next to her, still grinning out from under her hat, slightly flushed and windblown. "That was fun."

Bonnie grinned back. "I'm not surprised a thrill-seeker like you would've enjoyed that."

"And I like your father."

"He likes you too. I can tell. And for that I'm glad. He's quite a character. And he's picky about the company he keeps."

"You have a good life here. With good people. It's the kind of life I'd like to have for me and Alden."

Bonnie shrugged. "Well, we don't have a lot anymore."

"You have enough. Enough to be satisfied. It's wantin that gets people into trouble."

Bonnie could not argue with her. They turned back into the ranch, the wild mare fighting Bonnie every step of the way. She nodded back at the little beast. "It'll sap your spirit, and make you poor. But it's straight and it's decent."

"There's no better night's sleep than after an honest day's work."

"It's no wonder you always look so tired then."

Jacklyn laughed. "Some deck must be shy a joker, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie looked over at her. "You know, my father is right, you're kind of a natural at this ranching thing. Had no trouble with those cattle and you ride like you were born to it. I think if you could bear to stop to killin people for a living you'd be real successful."

"I appreciate that."

Drew was speaking to Amos at the gate to the corral when they rode back into the ranch. Amos took the painted mare and Drew appraised her and nodded at the women. "Amos was tellin me about a herd just spotted outside of Armadillo. Says they're big, healthy-lookin things. I know we've got plenty of stock but I don't really want to pass that up. He already sent a few hands to meet you at the base of the canyon."

Bonnie nodded and glanced at her companion. "You up for some more bronc bustin?"

"Let's get to it."

They rode out into the country at an easy canter. Rounding the bend over the silver Rio Bravo with the bleak grey coast of Mexico beyond Jacklyn was quiet and when Bonnie looked over at her she looked to be turning over words.

"I can hear your mind workin from over here," she said. "What are you thinkin, Jacklyn?"

"Well, I was just wonderin to myself why you aren't married. Aside from the snobbery, that is."

Bonnie lifted a brow. "You sure ask a lot."

"Not any more than you've asked me. I'm just surprised, that's all. Between the ranch, and your looks, you're a catch."

Bonnie fought down a smile in spite of herself. "You should be talking in the past. I'm beyond my prime according to most men."

"Surely you've had some suitors."

"Well, here and there. A ranch in the middle of nowhere ain’t exactly the best place to find a husband, and none of the men I've met... well, they just weren't right for me. Most of them were self-entitled cowards who couldn't, pardon my language, shoot or ride for shit and didn't care to know a thing about raising livestock or tending crops. Felt like they couldn't keep up. And, well, I suppose it just never felt right around them."

"My experience has been similar."

"Is that why you aren't married?"

"If you're past your prime I may as well go ahead and start diggin myself a grave," said Jacklyn. "But I have plenty of reasons for not having a husband and my current and past occupations are the least of them."

They clucked the horses up and sped down the ridgeline. The desert below was shrouded by the canyon with the sun high above, a pinpoint of white light vicious in the cloudless heavens. The road quaked in the heat and at the horizon the sky seemed to break and drip shimmering into the earth.

"Where'd you get your airs and graces, Miss MacFarlane?"

"From a couple of cheap governesses pa hired to keep us from being savages. I'd like to talk about more than just cattle and chickens sometimes, that's all. And after my last brother left, it was up to me to become the man of the ranch. He'd never admit it but my father's a lot frailer than he looks."

Jacklyn nodded. "You know, for all the value men put in themselves, you're worth ten times as much as any I've ever met."

Bonnie laughed a little. "You're quite the flatterer, you know that?"

"It's the truth. Every word."

"You're more full of it than Nigel West Dickens."

"Now that, ma'am, is just plain insulting."

Bonnie shook her head. At the bottom of the slope waited a group of four riders and she waved her hand at them. "There they are up ahead."

The men joined them and the group loped off the road. One pointed out the herd not far out on the desert, grazing in the low cacti. Bonnie looked out beyond them. "Alright, see where the canyon narrows? We're gonna drive them up there and trap them. Jacklyn, give us a head start up there and then start herdin them in."

Jacklyn nodded and took off to ride behind the herd. Bonnie and the rest of them galloped up the hills and dove down into the shadows of the cliffs and waited. After a few minutes the pounding of hooves was heard resonating strongly in the narrow corridor and they sprinted in billowing and blowing, fearsome and white-eyed and beautiful. The men hollered and waved their hats to keep them back. At the front was a palomino stallion and he struck out with his hoof and leaned his neck forward and grabbed the ear of one of the ranch hand's horses between his teeth. The poor animal screamed and reared back, throwing blood and throwing its rider and the palomino took off past him. Bonnie shouted out and Jacklyn took off after him with her lasso out and they disappeared into the canyon in a fine cloud of dust.

Bonnie stayed and helped secure the rest of the herd and minutes later went chasing them out the same path they had taken. Once she exited the canyon and was back into the desert expanse she beheld Jacklyn sitting the horse bareback, having formed a makeshift hackamore out of the rope. Jacklyn waved and trotted the horse over, him still nearly entirely wild and skittering and striking out with his forelegs, calling out with flared nostrils and with his ears pinned flat to his neck. Jacklyn spurred him over and looked down at him where he shifted about beneath her. "Hateful son of a bitch ain't he."

Bonnie nodded. "You'll never know more fun or fear. He's a beauty though." She regarded them a bit longer, him feral and gorgeous and Jacklyn clearly already in love with him. It was a fine picture they made. "You know, you should keep him. As a thank you for all you've done for us."

Jacklyn looked down at the animal. He was tossing his head and his hindquarters swung side to side as if at any moment he might decide to take flight and it was all she could do to keep him from doing so. "If I didn't know better I'd say you're tryin to get me killed. But I suppose he's quick, and he's mean. And a beauty on top of it."

"Just like you."

Neither of them seemed to expect the compliment and Bonnie blushed lividly but Jacklyn simply smirked, keeping her eyes on the horse. "Well, alright. Thank you, Miss MacFarlane."

Bonnie grinned. "Come on, I'll escort you back to the ranch. I want to be there when he tries to throw you off the canyon on the way back up."

======•======

By the next morning Jacklyn had gentled her new dragon enough to get him to take a bit in his mouth, though his willingness to obey the thin bar of metal that separated him from freedom was largely dependent on his attitude at that time, which was foul at nearly any given moment. Jacklyn had taken the opportunity on her ride back to Ridgewood Farm to attempt further training but the beast had largely decided on his own the tempo with which they would be making the journey. As they made it into Ridgewood both her and her mount were sweating and her hands were raw around the reins and her temper was just as vicious as his. She found Nigel West Dickens still on site, fiddling about near his coach, and it did absolutely nothing to improve her disposition. When he noticed her approaching like a dark cloud upon him he quickly shifted his immediate response of visible dismay towards geniality and granted her a big smile.

"Ah, Miss Marston " he said nervously, giving her a quick bow. "How are you this fine day?"

She opted to skip the pleasantries. "I met your friend. Seth."

"Ah, yes. Seth of the dead. An interesting fellow, to be sure. You don't meet many men these days with the moral fortitude to cut straight to the chase like that, do you?"

"Thankfully not."

West Dickens seemed to fail to comprehend the parameters of this conversation and clicked his tongue at her. "Yes, contemporary society is remarkably harsh on professional exhumers, but did you know, in ancient Egypt, it was an art form more highly valued than literature? I believe Seth comes from that school of thought."

"As fascinating as that is, I'd like to know if you'd given any more of your time to our plan."

West Dickens, not to be discouraged by his associate's terseness, wagged his finger. "Your plan, dear girl. _Your_ plan. I am merely the help. I am not, mercifully, the arbiter of wisdom."

Jacklyn's face darkened and she took a step towards him. He staggered backwards as she advanced. "What you are, _dear_ _boy_ , is a man whose life I've saved twice now. A man who sells lies and deceit to unwitting people. A man who, if he doesn't help me, I won't think twice about puttin a bullet through his skull."

West Dickens swallowed and blinked up at her, very carefully arranging his reply to her in his head before putting voice to it. "You see, Miss Marston, you have the exterior of a violent woman, but the soul of an angel, and that is what I think I cherish most about you."

"That's what I thought."

"But," he said, keeping his voice even. "Before we can attend to your particular problems, we need some extra lubricant to oil the machinery of business, and this being America, that lubricant with which we concern ourselves is money. We need weapons, armor plate for the wagon, extra hands. And... I need some danger money."

"So sell some cures."

"Do you want to see me lynched?" he hissed. He had become very animated and excited in the course of their conversation. "I've worn out my welcome here. My repeat customers are starting to get suspicious. No, no. I have a plan. We made a nice little bit of cash when you did your demonstration here a few days ago. Now we are going to turn that little bit of money into a lot more money. And once more, we're going to use you to do it. Now, my dear, I'll bet you've stolen a horsecart or two in your lifetime."

"My response to that implication will vary greatly depending on what exactly you're plannin to say next, old man."

"The sport of kings!" he exclaimed. "Racing, my dear! A noble activity, without reproach. Exactly the kind of activity where a lying, cheating degenerate like myself can prosper. That horse of yours, can it hitch?"

Jacklyn regarded the beast. He was in the midst of destroying the post to which he was fastened. "I just broke him yesterday, and that's bein generous."

"Well, is he fast?"

"That he is."

"Then it's settled. Ride along with me to Rathskeller Fork. That's where they're holding the meet. We'll get him used to a cart when we get there."

Once more they traveled side by side, though this time most of Jacklyn's focus was on keeping her animal from taking off with her. West Dickens eyed them dubiously but held his tongue on the matter. "Seth is a fascinating fellow, isn't he?"

"You could say that. You could also say he's sick in the head. It's no wonder you and him get along so well."

"I see the good in everybody, Jacklyn. It's a flaw of mine. I have a soft spot for life's flotsam and jetsam."

"It's more than that," she said. "You and him have a lot in common. You both rob people. Least he waits til they're dead to do it."

West Dickens, bolder than he might have been on equal footing, just smiled knowingly at her. "Ah, my dear girl. Nobody is more critical of drinkers than a drunk who's mended her ways. You spent your life robbing people. It's a little inappropriate to be taking the moral high ground now."

"I had the courtesy to put a gun in their face. No tricks, no lies. And I never took from anyone who couldn't stand to lose it."

"A Robin Hood with spurs. How romantic! Perhaps one day I'll too be lucky enough to leave my nefarious life behind and work on the government's dime."

"You'd be wise to not talk about things you don't understand," she warned. He heeded her advice.

"Very well," he drawled. "Then let's talk about the race! Even a coldhearted misanthrope like you must be the tiniest bit excited. You're going to have a whale of a time! They've been holding these chariot races in New Austin for as long as I can remember. And... well, like I said, we need the money. You've already proven yourself as more than adept at the reins, my dear, and under some stress. These races are Byzantine in their ferocity and the terrain is treacherous. People will do just about anything to win. Men die. It's a marvelous spectator sport. And you are my wild card. They won't be expecting you at all."

"So what's your role in all this?"

"Think of me as your spiritual guide."

"Must I?"

He sighed. "You are a free woman, of course, but I strongly recommend it! Imagine, just for today, you are not a ruthless bounty hunter and I am not an avant-garde business pioneer. No, madam, for today, we are gladiators!"

They neared Rathskeller Fork and entered the little settlement with hostile stares following. As Nigel West Dickens signed them up Jacklyn attempted with little success to get a harness on her horse. When she finally got the blinkers on he immediately began to jump about in the crossties, his hooves slamming against the wooden stalls on either side. Folk were pointing and whispering and laughing. She watched the scene unfold with dread mounting in her gut. "This lunatic is goin to get me killed."

"Nonsense, dear girl," said West Dickens from behind her. "He'll settle down, he's just as excited about the race as I am. But there's a small issue. I can't sign you up without a name for the animal. What's his moniker?"

Jacklyn shrugged. "I told you I just got him yesterday. He doesn't have one yet."

"Well, think of something."

"You think of something," she said. "It'll be an actual miracle if we can even get him near the cart, much less hitched to it."

West Dickens regarded the beast himself. He sighed. "I'm sure it'll be no end of a farce."

He was not wrong. By the time they managed to get him hitched to the cart and somewhat willing to acknowledge Jacklyn's commands he was a lathered-up mess and would not stop calling out to anything that would listen. He fought constantly against the bit and Jacklyn had to stand in the cart braced against the seat like a charioteer to keep him under control. The crowd watching from the side of the road saw this wretched creature being handled by a woman and as such her odds were absolutely abysmal. There was one lone bettor who put money on her to win and even those among that crowd who favored underdogs and longshots regarded him with some degree of pity.

Which is why, when Jacklyn won that race, blowing over the finish line and leaving nothing but dust and ruin in her wake, Nigel West Dickens could not help but start to laugh as he took in the stunned and crestfallen faces of first his fellow bettors and then the defeated racers as they followed her in. When the announcer began to read off the names of the victors he was given pause by one word in particular.

"In a rather stunnin turn of events we've got _Miss_ Jacklyn Marston drivin... huh. Well, hell, I don't have the faintest notion of how to say that word right there."

West Dickens, through barks of joyous laughter as he totaled in his head the appalling amount of money he had just made on the misfortune of others, recited the name for the announcer, for he had picked it out himself.

"Schadenfreude," he managed, and then he began to laugh again.


	7. Chapter 7

Following their victory at Rathskeller Fork and subsequent fleeing of the scene after pocketing their ill-gotten earnings, Jacklyn had been advised to seek out yet another of Nigel West Dickens' esteemed associates: an illicit arms dealer and town drunk who went by the name of Irish.

She rode through the night and in the early morning dark she walked into the saloon at Armadillo. Only a few wayward souls still up at such an hour but Irish did not seem to be among them. She inquired after him at the counter. The bartender raised his brows and directed her to the livery on the back side of town.

"Couple fellas came in here and took him out back just a few minutes ago," he told her. "Not nice fellas either. If he ain't dead you tell him he still owes me for the drinks."

She walked back out to the street. Outside of the saloon it was a quiet morning, the town deserted save for the horses hitched before the hotel and the lone drunk singing from the dirt on the other side of the building. Very far to the west lightning flared silently across an inkblack sky, sparking out whitehot and vanishing in a flash. As she approached the corral at the rear of the lot she could hear raised voices coming from one of the barns. The pale light of the lamps within illuminated the space before the doors and she could make out shadows moving along the wall. As she came closer she heard other sounds: the wet, panicky coughs and pleas of a drowning man.

Three men stood at a water trough just inside, two of them taking turns forcing the middle man's head underwater.

"Yes, boyo. You messed up properly this time, didn't ye?" said one, holding the man by the hair below the water's surface. "You little paddy bastard. You thievin mick cunt!"

The middle man reared up from the trough, his dark hair splayed across his bearded face like a shaggy dog. "You got it all wrong, Welsh! All wrong! It was French! I promise! He said he was gonna rip you off, and now he's rippin me off!"

The third man quickly put him back into the water. "Keep on talkin there, Irish!" he said, bracing himself against the trough to better hold Irish under. "In about fifteen more seconds your whole world's gonna turn black!"

Irish gurgled, his legs kicking out behind him. Jacklyn watched this scene unfold for several seconds and then made her presence known. "What's goin on, boys?"

They both turned towards the intruder. Irish fell to the ground and scurried away. The fellow he had called Welsh instantly pulled a switchblade and held it up. "Fuck off, girly. This don't concern you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "When a man waves a knife in my face and tells me to fuck off, it _always_ concerns me."

Welsh faltered and looked to his friend. French stepped forward, pointing down at Irish. "Look here, this paddy bastard stole our gun. Then he tried to steal our horses when we found out about it. Law's clear on the matter."

Irish was still on his knees, soaking wet and somewhat drunk. From the straw-strewn dirt floor he regarded Jacklyn like a penitent sinner before the cross. "I never stole nothin, madam. Never did. Not in all me life! That French cunt! He's playin with the Welshman's tiny and ineffective mind!"

"You hush your mouth!"

"Enough," said Jacklyn. "You both still have your horses. I need this here man's assistance and he's no use to me dead. Head on out."

"Who do you think you are, you dyke?" asked Welsh, still holding his knife. "The bloody calvary?"

"Careful," she warned.

"You're the one who should've been careful," hissed French. He pulled his own knife and he and Welsh both advanced towards her. Jacklyn had her revolver drawn before they had taken more than two steps and she shot Welsh twice in the chest and he went down with a strangled gurgle. French faltered and cursed and turned as if to flee and she shot him in the back and he too dropped dead.

Irish was still huddled on the floor, his head in his palms as if he were expecting to be shot too. He yelped when a hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet so he could look his savior in the eye.

Jacklyn studied him. His shirt had perhaps been white at some point but the repeated spilling of whiskey and vomit down the front had stained it a pale brown. The dunking of his head in the water trough had likely gotten him as clean as he had been in weeks. The first impression she had of him was not a good one and so she saw no reason to bother with pleasantries.

"Nigel West Dickens said you could help me locate a machine gun. Military issue, somethin we can mount into a covered wagon. And considerin that I just saved your life I'm sure you'd be amenable to lendin me a hand."

Negotiations over debts of life and death seemed to be a barter that Irish was well-accustomed to because he took this information in stride. "I can't thank you enough for takin care of those two degenerates," he said, none worse for the wear. "Untrustworthy, poor in personal hygiene, and lackin in the finer qualities of gentlemen."

"And the gun?" pressed Jacklyn.

Irish gave her a sloppy bow. "It'd be my pleasure. I've got just the one in mind. Exactly the sort you'll be wantin. It's a little bit of a ride, but you don't seem the sort to care too much. Go and get your horse and meet me back in front of the saloon."

She did as instructed. When she met back up with him Irish was sitting his own horse with a fatuous expression on his face, gazing longlingly past the swinging doors. "This is already turnin into a hell of a day. You think we got time for one quick little drink?"

"You're still thirsty after all that?" she asked him, though she began to ride out of town and he sighed and caught her up.

"I have a reputation to maintain," he told her as they crossed the tracks into rode towards sky of deep navy, the stars just beginning to fade. "What's your name, friend?"

"Jacklyn Marston."

"Bloody good stroke of luck you came by. I thought I'd drunk me last breakfast there."

They traveled slowly, loping along a trail oddly bright beneath the waning moonlight and the flashes of lightning ahead. Irish kept listing slightly to the side and groaning as if he might throw up but he held it together.

"Who were those fine specimens of humanity?" Jacklyn asked him.

"They was me only friends in the world. And boy am I glad to see them bastards dead. We all met on the boat over a few years back, we did. Thick as thieves ever since, and that right there was the problem. Never trust a Welshman, me pa always told me, and he got his throat slit, so he should know. The kind of fellas who'll steal an acorn from a blind sow and then kick her for squealin. And as for that French bastard—"

"He didn't sound too French."

"He wasn't from there, but I'll be damned if we was gonna try and make a name out of the backwater shitehole he really came from."

They eventually quit the road and turned onto the desert. The world not so far to the west hummed gently and dark thunderheads stirred above the peaks. The very sky seethed and thunder rolled over the slopes.

"Not far now," Irish said presently, eyeing the approaching storm. "Good thing too, cause I don’t like the looks of them clouds. The gun I have in mind for you is, ah, no longer in my possession, however. That's why those two was tryin to kill me. Low-life bastards that do have it are holed up in a cabin by Lake Don Julio. Can't wait to see the look on their faces when we blast in there."

Jacklyn peered at him. "You've just allowed a bunch of criminals access to a machine gun?"

"Well, I didn't have the firepower to get it back by meself," he told her good-naturedly. "And I can't exactly report it to the authorities."

"You'd best not be lyin to me."

He frowned at her. "Listen, lassie. I didn't ask for your help back there. I don't owe you nothin."

"Call me that again and you'll wish you'd drowned in that barn. And I'll decide what you do and don't owe me."

They crested low hills choked with agave and creosote bush. Little prairie wolves yapping and yammering further south near the river. Eventually Irish held out his hand to slow down. They advanced to the eminence of one such hill. Where they stood they overlooked a small cabin squatting at the edge of the lake. There were men milling about in the dark. Sentries with rifles on their shoulders.

"You can make quick work of those fellas if they give you trouble," said Irish. "The gun's stored just inside that shack. These old boys are opium runners, so don't feel too bad puttin them down."

She turned to him. "And where will you be?"

"Ah, I'll cover you from the ridge," he told her. "I'm better from long range. It'll be a piece of cake."

"Alright. Try not to shoot me, Irish."

He saluted her and rode off. She dismounted her horse and made to walk down the hill, staying in the shadows til she reached the bottom. The wind had picked up, the thunder a warning. One of the men on the perimeter noticed Jacklyn at the edge of the lamplight and he smiled and approached.

"You lost, sweetheart?" he asked, coming towards her. Then he saw all the weapons strapped to her person and the revolver in her hand and the smile collapsed. "What the hell?"

She fired. He staggered and dropped to the ground, dead before he had the chance to realize what was to befall him. She ran and slid behind a large wooden crate, popping up long enough to dispatch the other two guards as they fired upon her, blind and frantic in the dark, two shots each. She waited. No one else appeared. She looked into the cabin window. Movement within. She edged around the side of the building and just as she reached the porch the door was kicked open. A man stood there with a shotgun pointed right at her chest. He pulled the trigger. The gun clicked but failed to fire and he had only a moment to glance at it in confusion before Jacklyn shot him in the head. He stumbled back into the cabin and fell spread-eagle onto the floor with his blood sprayed above him like a plume. Jacklyn stood in the doorway looking at the shotgun in his limp hand.

"That was plain dumb luck," she said to herself. She looked at the man. "Just not for you."

She glanced towards the ridge and saw no sign of Irish. She had not heard him or his rifle and of him or his horse there was no trace.

"Little coward," she muttered. Then she stepped into the cabin. There were bags of small yellowish rocks around the room. Little piles of powder on the table like pale golden pebbles. A scale and an assortment of pipes. God's own medicine destined for lands in more southern reaches and for desperate hands. There was no machine gun. She stood there, fury at Irish's deception working across her features.

"That lyin sack of shit."

A sky-shattering crack rolled across the land and the earth shook beneath her feet. She stepped outside and looked up. The very air was electric and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A tempest was fast approaching. Livid clouds raced along the entire western horizon, plummeting the world behind them in darkness. Lightning spat across the firmament and flared before the rain-shrouded mountains, the wind howling down through the narrows. Jacklyn fetched her horse and took off with the first drops of rain at her heels, the dark pursuer churning behind her.

 

 

  
"Amos!"

The wind had picked up and over the static whine of the rain Amos did not hear Bonnie holler for him. She began to jog through the mud, a hand held up before her eyes.

"Amos!"

He raised up looking around and saw her approaching, squinting through the downpour. He ran a hand over his face to chase away the water and it was immediately replaced by more. "Miss, I've secured most of the horses, and the chickens."

"What about the cattle?" she asked him.

He looked out towards the pastures. Visibility was poor and the ranch was an island in a hazy and fitful sea.

"They should've all been back, but the first men I sent out only brought back half a dozen of them. Says that's all they found. That means they're scattered all over the goddamn valley and beyond. We never should've sent them out this mornin. I never thought it'd get this bad."

Bonnie nodded. "That's alright. Get your men and let's go fetch them."

Amos shook his head. Through the murk emerged a rider hunched low over their horse, one hand holding the hat on their head. Jacklyn pulled up before them, rainblown, and was hardly stopped before she looked to Bonnie.

"What can I do?" 

Amos ignored her and looked back to his boss. "You'll never get em back before the storm gets here."

"Storm's here, Amos," Bonnie told him. "And the more time we waste arguing about it the less we have to go find the cattle."

"Look, miss," he said more forcefully. "If we get caught out there, we're gonna die."

Bonnie looked near to throttling him. "And if we lose the herd, we'll all die anyway, you stupid man. It'll just be a whole lot slower while we starve to death."

Jacklyn reached down and clapped Amos on the back. "You heard her. Round up your men, let's go get those cattle."

She swung her horse around and Amos shook his head and cursed and threw his hands up. "Goddamn stubborn women."

Bonnie had already mounted her own horse. "Come on, Jacklyn. The men'll catch up. Let's at least scout the herd out."

They took off and galloped along the train tracks south of the ranch. The hooves clapped against the stones and there was the smell of damp leather and wet grass and ozone. Mud painted the horse's bellies and their legs and their rider's boots. Lightning flashed without respite and the thunder broke as though it were meant to shatter rock. They both looked to the sky like mapreaders as if to divine the pattern of weather in the violent heavens. Bonnie shook the rain from her face and her hair stuck to her cheeks. She had to holler over the storm. "You know, I'm startin to think someone up there is conspiring against me."

"You haven't lost anythin yet."

"Not today at least. I'm glad you're here. Things seem a bit easier with your help."

"Well, I try."

Bonnie stood up her stirrups, peering through the veil of water. "There. You see them?"

She pointed to an anonymous stretch of plain on the border of the forest east of her ranch. One could squint and just barely see the low dark outlines of cattle distant, milling about vaguely at the very edge of their visibility.

"We've got two herds out in different pastures. Hopefully they're not too scattered. We need to merge them and drive them both back. You remember what I taught you?"

"Every word."

"Follow me, we'll go for this one first."

They leaned down over their horse's necks. Amos' men had nearly caught them up and some went off to the other herd. They circled the cattle and drove them splashing through the flooded grass, bellowing mutely over the wind and the booming thunder. They ran blindly through an endless streak of rain and crashed into each other, some with horns locking and some falling, all of them covered in mud. They reached the second herd fully soaked with the animals quivering nervously beneath an oppressive black maelstrom of light and noise. The storm loomed directly over them. Branches cracked and creaked and the plaingrass thrashed in the wind. Bonnie looked to Jacklyn, rain streaming down her face. "They're all here. At least all the ones we can save. Let's get them back to the ranch."

It was as if then that some malevolent diety chose to test them, for at that moment a bolt of lightning shot down like an arrow, striking a huge elm nearest the herd. The tree exploded, a burst of splinters shattering out into the rainy haze. The horses reared and spun on their hind legs, their riders leaning into their shoulders. With a terrible crack the trunk split in two and a massive branch came crashing down to earth, the snapping of the wood as loud as a gunshot. Almost immediately the cattle panicked and took off, stampeding towards the edge of the cliff like mindless acolytes on a death run, all of one mind and one fear.

"Oh my god!"

Bonnie's outcry was nearly silent in the cacophony of other noise. Jacklyn spurred her horse and took off after them, galloping parallel to the stampeding herd. She drew her sidearm and held it above her head. Beyond where the cliff terminated the world simply ceased to exist and she was fast approaching the end of the promontory. When she had overtaken the foremost of the cattle she was mere feet away from the edge and she swung her horse around and fired several times into the air with the cattle still barreling towards her. They stopped nearly at her horse's chest and began to mill about in dumb confusion. She shot off the pistol a couple more times to chase them away from the edge and then fetched some of the stragglers, using the end of her reins to quirt them on. The men caught her up and circled the herd and soon they were all on their way back towards the ranch. Bonnie rode up alongside her, her cheeks pale.

"Are you insane?" she shouted.

Jacklyn looked at her. "Hell, it worked, didn't it?"

Bonnie shook her head. Her hands were shaking and she felt weak in the knees. There were words she felt she wanted to say in response to Jacklyn's dismissiveness but none of them made sense enough to her to say then. They chased the herd back along the tracks and into the paddock in near silence. The men attended to those injured and they did a full headcount and found none missing. Beyond the fenceline the split elm still smoldered. The worst of the storm had passed them by and as Bonnie and Jacklyn put their horses up and walked side by side back up the road towards the house only soft rains fell in the wake of such destruction, the thunder growing distant as it swept eastward.

"I think I need a drink," Bonnie said, looking at Jacklyn, her threat tight and the strange pangs she felt within her heart not yet abated as she regarded her. "Join me?"

"It's only about ten in the morning, ma'am."

"And?"

Jacklyn nodded wearily. "I wouldn't dare turn one down."

They went and sat in Bonnie's living room, still dripping, whiskeys in hand. They drank. Jacklyn chuckled humorlessly. "That was somethin," she said.

Bonnie glared at her. "'Somethin' is an understatement, you fool. That was one of the most stupid things I've ever seen a person do. You scared the hell out of me. To be entirely honest I wonder to myself every day how you're still alive."

"Dumb luck," Jacklyn replied, pulling her damp hair away from her neck. "Pure dumb luck."

"I've never seen a person with so little survival instinct be so capable of survivin. If I didn't know better, I'd think you have a death wish."

Jacklyn shrugged. They sat in the flickering light of Bonnie's fireplace, the darkness outside the windows giving much of the power to the flames. She watched them flutter and shift. "Nothin so dramatic. When you stop caring so much about whether you live or die, it gets easier to just act on instinct. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. If I do die, I figure it was probably meant to happen."

"You don't need to be so fatalistic."

Jacklyn glanced at her. "I'd likely be dead already if I weren't."

"You realize that makes no sense, right?"

"Makes plenty of sense to me."

"Jacklyn Marston, I refuse to believe that you're as careless as you pretend to be," said Bonnie, narrowing her eyes at her. "You're runnin all over New Austin hunting criminals all on someone else's behalf. If you really cared so little you wouldn't even be here, so I don't want to hear any more of that nonsense. Secondly, if our friendship means so little to you that you wouldn't want to stick around for it because you just 'don't care' then it seems I've vastly overestimated your opinion of me. So you do whatever the hell you want, but next time you start charging at a cliff, or doing one of the other stupid things you do, you keep in mind there's some of us who would be crushed to see you go."

With that Bonnie finished her drink and sat back in her chair, gently seething, though she found her anger waning fast. Jacklyn stared at her. Then she dropped her eyes to her glass and took a sip. "That's the first good dressin-down I've gotten in a while."

"Seems you needed it."

Jacklyn sighed, still studying her glass. "I'm sorry that I offended you. You're important to me. I'm just tired."

Earnest and simple words. Words Bonnie knew to be true. Her annoyance softened further yet. "Were you up all night again?" she asked.

"I was."

"You should get some rest."

"I don't know if I got time. I need to—"

Jacklyn caught herself. Bonnie raised a brow at her. "What? You think I'm under the impression that your plan to get Williamson is operatin entirely on the right side of the law? I'm not quite as naïve as you seem to think."

"It ain't that," Jacklyn said, with some hesitance. "I guess I just try and keep you separate from all the rotten individuals I find myself having to work with to get this done. Funny thing is these used to be my people, these cheats and criminals, and now when I look at them I feel nothin but contempt. I just don't want you lookin at me like that."

Bonnie shook her head. "Jacklyn, there's little you could do to make me think ill of you. I told you that already. We all do what we must, with what we're given."

Jacklyn did not look entirely convinced but she did not fight her. Instead she turned to Bonnie. They watched each other in silence for some time, the patter of the rain and the crackling flames settling into a steady current of noise. The room was very warm. Bonnie's gaze fell briefly to Jacklyn's mouth before meeting her eyes again. Jacklyn swallowed. The tightening of the tendons of her throat seemed exaggerated in the deep red shadows.

"Maybe you're right," murmured Jacklyn, her dark eyes shifting back and forth over Bonnie's face. She was poised in her seat as if she might take flight. "I think I'm gonna get some rest after all, Bonnie."

"I think I am too."

Jacklyn stood and set her empty glass down. As she passed by Bonnie reached for her hand. The both of them went still and Bonnie felt herself blush but still she held on.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything. Most of all thank you for just bein here. I know I give you a hard time but I think I needed someone like you."

"Well," said Jacklyn, almost nervously. She swallowed again. "It's nothin, but I think I needed you more than you needed me."

The words carried a strange intimacy with them but there was truth in them as well. An understanding yet unspoken. Bonnie was still holding Jacklyn's hand. Something unfamiliar crept its way into her mind, half-formed thoughts where she wondered but could do nothing more. Jacklyn stood there a moment longer wavering much like the firelight that framed her. "Bonnie,"

"What is it?"

Jacklyn exhaled. "Nothin. I'll see you. Let me know if you need anything."

She pulled her hand away and walked out. The sound of the failing rain came and went as the door fell shut behind her. Bonnie watched after her. She raised her hand to her face. Her cheek was hot and where her thumb rested beneath her chin she could feel her heart thundering just as powerfully as the storm that had left them behind.


	8. Chapter 8

Jacklyn was back in Armadillo the next morning, thoughts of the previous day still worrying the channels of her subconscious, though her prime focus was on tracking down Irish and taking him to task for his deception and that preoccupation was enough for her to avoid addressing such troubling issues.

She once more sought him at the saloon, though when she asked after him the barkeep informed her that last night he had gotten drunk and incorrigible and after an incident with one of the working girls he was swiftly expelled from the premises. The barkeep then recommended she try Benedict Point since it was the next closest settlement with a supply of alcohol.

When she stepped back onto the walkways outside she looked down the street and saw several horses standing in front of the sheriff's office. The deputies were fastening weapons to their saddlebags as if in preparation for battle. Jacklyn watched and then unhitched her horse from in front of the saloon and made her way over.

When she walked into the office she found Marshal Johnson behind his desk, loading his rifle. He looked up at her and his lips worked around the cigar held between his teeth. "Marston. Good timing. Since you're here you want to make yourself useful? I could use another gun."

Jonah shoved past her on his way back inside the building. She checked him with her own shoulder but otherwise ignored him. "What's happenin?"

"Bandits. Whole gang of them got drunk last night and went and shot up Plainview. It's a little oil camp west of here. Killed the men, raped the women then slit their throats."

"One of them survived and walked in here just a little bit ago," Eli said, bald pink head bobbing in excitement at her. "She had blood all over. I ain't never seen somethin so awful."

"She also said she overheard them mention hittin Ridgewood next," interrupted the Marshal. "Seems they're on the spree. We're fixing to head up there and see if we can intercept them. Will you ride with us?"

Jacklyn nodded. "I'll ride."

"It'll likely be a bloody job."

"I don't think I know any other kind."

They mounted and rode out, the sun rising white. The mood between them was somber and they were all quiet, the promise of violence setting their teeth on edge. They galloped along a winding road that cut into the gorges and up into the high country, leaving the flatness of the desert behind as they rode onward. The trail was still soft from yesterday's rainfall and small pools of water mirrored the sky above like spills of mercury.

"Why did these men attack Plainview?" Jacklyn asked.

"Why do any of these men do what they do?" answered the Marshal. "For the hell of it. Because it amuses them."

"They usually this bold?"

"No. But they ain't usually this harried neither."

"Are those vultures, Marshal?" asked Eli suddenly, hand shielding his eyes as he stared up at the pale blue expanse, the other pointing ahead with the reins still grasped within.

They were. Three buzzards circled the hills just off the trail, slow and lazy loops. The Marshal checked his horse and observed them. "Might just be a dead critter. Marston, Eli, go take a look."

The pair turned off the trail. Past the mounds of mesquite brush and cacti they could make out the shapes of tentpoles leaning crooked out of the sandy earth with the canvas flapping in the breeze. Eli made an unhappy noise. "I don't like the looks of this, ma'am."

Jacklyn shook her head, squinting beyond the hills. "Me neither."

The campsite they came upon was a killing ground, a havoc of blood and savagery. Two men were laying facedown in the dirt, their hands bound behind their backs. They had both been executed with shots to their temples and red ran darkly into the earth. The women were half-naked, their dresses torn, their throats cut. The tents were destroyed and the malefactors had ransacked the doomed travelers' supplies. Even the horses had been slaughtered. A vulture sat on top of one, his ugly head tilted at the watchers, his beak bloody. He flapped his great dark wings and hissed when Jacklyn shooed him but he did not take flight.

"No survivors here, Marshal," Eli called out, dismay clear on his face. Jacklyn had dismounted and she picked her way among the dead like she was traversing a boneyard.

"This look like Williamson's boys' work to you?" she asked him, kneeling down beside one of the slain women. She stared blankly up at the sun, eyes seeing nothing, the pupils shriveled and stricken to dots. Jacklyn pulled a blanket over her body and did the same with the other.

Eli nodded. "None of these gangs is good but his is worse than the rest of them."

"I guess that shouldn't surprise me all that much."

"Let's catch up to the Marshal," he said, wanting away from that place.

Back over the hills, back to the trail. Marshal Johnson wore a dour look when they caught him up. "I take it what you saw wasn't pretty."

"No, but those bodies were fresh. They had to have been killed this morning," said Jacklyn.

"What sort of man does that?" Eli asked her, his face open and earnest as though he might truly know Jacklyn's opinion on such a matter.

The Marshal answered for her. "A bunch of weak men. A pack of cowards is the most dangerous kind."

"Some men is born plain evil," added Jonah.

Jacklyn shook her head. "Maybe that's true sometimes, but I think it's this land that makes the man, as much as the other way around. Men are born, and then they're formed, least that's how I see it."

"This ain't the time to be waxin philosophical," said the Marshal. "A thug is a thug, and I don't rightly care why he does what he does. They've stepped up their viciousness because they're runnin scared. We've been spillin a lot of bandit blood and hell ain't half full yet. Let's get goin."

They rode on, snaking along the road. It was not too long before yet more vultures were spotted above a thin trail of smoke. The Marshal made a noise indicating he did not have high hopes for what they might find and led them over the hills.

The second camp was no more pleasant than the first. More bodies, all of them killed in the same fashion as the others. One of the men's hands and ankles had been tied before they had thrown him into the campfire and he was blackened and smoking. Jacklyn pointed out the blood splattered on the ground. It glistened wetly beneath the sun and the embers still smoldered.

"Those boys just passed through," said the Marshal grimly, looking out over the land. "I reckon we'll see some sport before the day is up."

They all wheeled their horses around and got back onto the road. Their faces were dark masks and all four looked ready to kill. Jacklyn was seething. This degree of mindless brutality coming from one of her former brothers-in-arms stung like a betrayal and the Marshal looked over as if he could sense her outrage.

"That's Williamson's work," he told her plainly. "And it's been gettin nastier the longer he's out here."

"It wasn't like that before. Wasn't our way. Wasn't mine, at least."

Marshal Johnson shook his head. "Killin and thievin is never right, no matter how you dress it up."

"Unless it's ordered by a court of law, you mean?"

The Marshal glanced sharply at her. "I know you ain't a foolish woman, Marston. You can't really think to compare the two."

"You can act like you're runnin your show different, Marshal, but you and I ultimately answer to the same boss, and I know for a fact he ain't above doing ugly things as a means to an end. Why do you think I'm here?"

This was not a question the Marshal had an answer for and they rode on in silence. On the approach into Ridgewood the four of them pulled their horses up slightly and surveyed the scene. At the gates they dismounted and stood in the deserted lot. There was no living thing in sight. The gate to the corral hung open, the horses gone, the cattle slaughtered. The dogs had been shot and left in the road. The air was still and heavy.

"This ain't good," said the Marshal, muttering as though they were trodding cursed grounds. "You all split up. Holler out if you find something."

The farmhouse was saved for last and they all four met at the barn after scouting the perimeter and the outhouse and the corrals and finding nothing. The doors had been boarded up, planks of wood nailed over the gap. They pried them apart and shoved them open and then stood there staring while they tried to make sense of the shapes within the darkness. There were bodies along the walls, bodies hanging from nooses slung over the rafters with pools of blood dripping beneath. Some were naked, some shot, some stabbed. The four stood in mute awe.

"Oh my God," said the Marshal.

From the back of the barn came a rustling and a whimper and sidearms were swiftly pulled. A young woman staggered forth out of the shadows, blood-splattered and pale but alive. The moment she saw Jacklyn she began to cry and she fell into her, hands clawing at Jacklyn's coat, arms wrapping around her legs.

"Those _men_!" she sobbed, beginning to sink to her knees. "They thought all of us was dead! They're in there!"

She pointed a shaky finger at the farmhouse and they followed it with their eyes. Jacklyn turned back to the girl and knelt down, holding her at arm's length by the shoulders. "How many? Do they have hostages?"

The girl nodded frantically, tears streaming down her face. "Some of my family was alive when they took them in there."

"Go back into the barn," Jacklyn told her.

But the girl was shaking her head and holding on to Jacklyn's coat with a white-knuckled grip. She started to cry harder. "I can't! I can't go back in there!"

"You'll be safe," Jacklyn insisted. "Go to the back and stay quiet. I'll come get you when it's clear. Don't come out til I say."

While Jacklyn was sending the girl off the Marshal and his deputies were pulling weapons and watching the house. The curtains were all drawn closed. They all approached slowly, taking cover behind a wagon left in the yard. A window on the upper floor was slightly open. Jacklyn studied it. The barrel of a rifle peeked between the curtains and settled on the sill.

"Get down!" she shouted. All of them dropped. Where Jonah's head had been not a moment earlier above the edge of the wagon there was a burst of splinters as the bullet pierced the wood. This was the signal everyone had been waiting for because all at once the front door was shoved open and out ran several men, all of them shooting wildly as they ducked behind the porch railing, taking cover around the corner of the house. Jacklyn and the lawmen picked them off and fought their way inside, killing two more in the kitchen and sending the terrified hostages out the front door. They climbed the stairs and opened the first door at the landing. The Marshal shot dead the man within. There were two women in the room as well. One was huddled shaking in the corner. The other was dead.

"Get out of here," said the Marshal. "Go to that shed up front."

She ran out without another word. There were two more doors. The first was empty. When Jacklyn opened the second she came face to face with a man holding a woman before him like a shield, his gun pressed against her temple.

"Make another move and I blow her pretty little brains out all over you," he said. The woman whimpered, her eyes locked on Jacklyn.

Jacklyn did not pause. Her wrist flicked upwards and she shot him clean between the eyes and his head opened up bright red. The woman immediately began to scream. Jacklyn strode over and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her towards the door.

"He's dead, you're not. Now let's get outside with the others."

The woman did not argue and once they were out the door she sprinted around the side of the house. The Marshal gave the all-clear and he and his deputies jogged over to the shed and were speaking to the survivors. Jacklyn watched them a moment and then turned and walked back towards the barn.

"Hey," she called, stepping just inside. "You still in here?"

The girl walked towards her from the shadows, her head low, her shoulders quivering. She could not have been any older than fifteen. "I'm here," she murmured.

Jacklyn swallowed and put her hand lightly on the girl's shoulder and led her out. "You saved your family," Jacklyn told her. "The ones inside the house."

"I did?"

"Yeah. If you hadn't told us about them we may not have gotten in there in time. Come on, they're out front."

The women from inside the house were holding each other and crying. Several had been beaten and their faces were bruised, their dresses ripped. When one woman saw the girl at Jacklyn's side she sobbed and rushed forward, grasping her in her arms. One of the other survivors was talking to the Marshal, pointing down the road headed south along the tracks.

"Some folk tried to run out that way, but they was shot down like dogs," she told them. "They drug them back and put them in the barn. Some of them was still alive. We could hear them screaming... I thought you was supposed to protect us, Marshal. But you folk ain't men. You ain't nothin. You're just some man on a government payroll, takin money that the rest of us have to pay for with our lives!"

The women started crying all over again. Marshal Johnson turned and looked bleakly at his posse. "Mount up. We're goin hunting. If they ran south I'll bet they're riding along the tracks back to Fort Mercer."

He turned to Jacklyn. "If it's your man, I'm prepared to kill him."

Jacklyn nodded. "As am I."

They mounted their horses and rode off. They were racing along beneath the shadows of the cliffs, the four of them stamped by what they had seen at Ridgewood: hateful brutality, violence for the sake of violence.

"It all stinks of Williamson," said the Marshal. "He ain't always been quite this cruel but he also knows he's got someone after him. He's gettin reckless."

"He's always been a dumb and angry son of a bitch," Jacklyn replied coldly. "I just never thought he'd become a bloodthirsty murderer on top of it."

"Maybe you didn't know him well as you thought," Jonah drawled.

"Maybe. I ran with him for years though. We were almost like family once."

"If this is how you treat your family, I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies," said Eli.

"God willing, you'll never have to see it then."

"Look there," said the Marshal. He was pointing up at the cliffs about a half-mile ahead. There were riders sitting at the edge. As the posse closed in on them they saw it was Bill Williamson who awaited their arrival, astride his horse, his rifle held at his side. His men had their own guns aimed and ready. He grinned down at the group with a stained and broken smile that gave him the look of something feral.

"I sees you, Marshal, and I'll get to you momentarily," he said, turning his eyes to Jacklyn. He squinted down at her and spat off the side of the rocks.

"Jackie, you'd best just keep on ridin unless you wanna die with these pigs. I didn't bother killin you before but I sure as shit will now."

Jacklyn stared hard at him. "Too late for that, Bill. Might've been a time that I would've tried to spare you but that time is gone. Rape, torture, coldblooded murder... what the hell happened to you?"

"You think the government you're workin for is any better?" he asked her. He shook his head again, still smiling, the twist of his mouth a snarl beneath the scraggly beard. "You know Dutch always said you was gonna be the one to turn on us."

"You know it wasn’t me that turned first. But as for now, I had to draw a line somewhere."

He guffawed and his men automatically followed suit. "You always did have a high opinion of yourself," he said, expression morphing to something hateful. "Arrogant bitch. Thought you was smarter and better than the rest of us. Always talkin down on me. None of that will matter when you're dead! Get em, boys!"

His men began to fire. The four riders dropped off the sides of their horses and took cover in the ruins of a signal station. The insurgents were overconfident, still buzzed on the blood they'd spilled that morning, and Bill Williamson sent them in waves and all of them were felled without prejudice, lambs sent to the slaughter. When Jacklyn stood and looked back to the ridge her quarry was gone. The gunsmoke drifted slowly along the tracks and vanished and she stared and shook her head at nothing.

"Hey! Look what I got," called Jonah. "This son of a bitch is still breathin."

He was play-riding one of the thugs like a pony, kicking him not so gently in the ribs and urging him on with his spurs. When the man finally collapsed at the posse’s feet it was the Marshal who stood peering down at him.

"Norman Deek."

"Fuck!" said Norman, holding his leg and writhing on the ground. He had been shot in the thigh and blood streamed down his pants. The Marshal kicked him once in the leg and spat at the ground, watching him as he thrashed about in the dirt.

"Nice to see you again, buddy," said the Marshal. He looked to Jacklyn. "Thanks for your help, Marston. Norman here's gonna help us get to Bill after he's experienced our world-famous hospitality down at the office. Ain't you, Norman?"

Jacklyn nodded down at him. "That's mighty generous of you."

"Fuck you!" said Norman.

"Hogtie him," ordered the Marshal. "Get him in the cell then fetch the doctor. Get that leg patched up. Don't want him dyin yet. I'll catch you both up."

The deputies rode off, Norman Deek resting comfortably on the rump of Jonah's horse. Marshal Johnson waited until they had disappeared into the desert before he turned back to Jacklyn.

"You seemed surprised by what you saw."

She nodded. "I was. Bill's changed. Not for the better."

"You really believe that he used to be better?"

"There was a time when we all thought we were fightin injustices, Marshal," she said. "Bill included. He might've always been mean and stupid but he wasn't evil. The Bill I knew didn’t have it in him. I don't know what happened and I guess it doesn't really matter much anyway. I'll be glad to put a bullet in his head."

The Marshal nodded. "I don't doubt your loyalties. Might not have the best history behind you but you're not a bad one, Marston."

"I appreciate that, Marshal."

"One more thing," he said to her, after he had fetched his horse and mounted back up. "Those two boys that were killed at the livery in Armadillo a few days back. I knew them both and the types they ran with. Drunks and fools and criminals. They were killed too clean for it to have been one of their ilk. Most of them boys can't take a piss without gettin it all over themselves."

Jacklyn did not blink. "I reckon those fellas probably had messier fates coming."

The Marshal nodded. "You're probably right. There's a small bounty out for whoever killed them, but I don't think it'll worry anyone too much if that case gets closed."

"I understand."

He touched the brim of his hat. "When you're ready to take that murderer down, we'll be there."

He rode off, leaving her in a killing field of their own design. She regarded the corpses. Blood for blood. She stared down the tracks where they wound their way ever onward under the shadow of the cliff. She knew she was not far from Benedict Point. Not so far that she could justify leaving Irish there another day so that she could spend time with someone she did not wish to put a bullet into. She stood there a few beats longer and then got her horse and set off down the tracks.

 

 

Jacklyn was in a foul mood when she reached the station. The spilling of blood always left her uneasy and her own blood still buzzed in her veins. She thought of Bill and of how Dutch had turned him and the others against her and of what he had become in the years since she had last seen him. She thought about the fact that one of these days not so far from now she would have to kill him. It was with a troubled heart and a troubled mind that she came across Irish where he slept against the wall of one of the shacks, muttering happily to himself and holding a big wet bottle loosely in one hand.

"That's a mighty fine corset you got there, young lady," he slurred, smiling lecherously, his eyes closed. He smacked his lips. "Why don't you let Uncle Irish untie them strings?"

Jacklyn kicked him. He yelped and started, immediately gripping the bottle to his chest as though the unseen assailant had come upon him to claim his precious treasure. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, trying in vain to make out the form of the person looming above him where they stood in the sunlight.

"Mum?" he said. Then he sighed loudly and took a drink. "You always was a mean bitch."

"Try again," Jacklyn said humorlessly.

Irish grimaced. "I know that voice. Cold as the grave." Then he started laughing at her from where he sat in the dirt. "How are ya, Marston?"

"Where's my gun, Irish?"

"Ah, it's the damnedest thing. I realized, right after you'd killed those fellas, that they didn't have it after all. It was an honest mistake. That's why I rode off, I was goin to get it for ya."

"Is that right?"

"I swear it," he told her. Then as his eyes began to adjust to the light he looked her over, frowning as he did. "Is that blood?"

"It is. I've got room for more if you'd care to make a contribution."

"Ah, I don't think that'll be necessary."

She nodded. "Assuming you don't have any more convenient lapses in memory, I hope it won't be. Bullets are a valuable commodity."

He laughed again. "It's the whiskey, madam. It gives me the memory of a newborn babe. Innocent as can be!"

Jacklyn took the bottle from him. It was about a quarter full. She tilted it up and drank the remnants while Irish watched in mounting horror. She swallowed and handed the empty bottle back to him. "And it makes me violently angry. Shall we go get that gun?"

Irish stared at her a moment. Then he nodded. "Yes. Let's do that."

When Irish attempted to mount his horse he got his foot stuck in the stirrup and managed to bring the entire saddle onto the side of his unfortunate mount. The creature seemed accustomed to these antics and bore on with a patience fitting of the saints. Irish was singing to himself all the while and when he finally managed to clamber on he wore a fatuous grin. Jacklyn regarded him with open contempt.

"You'd best not pass out on me."

He looked over at her. "Me? No, I'm right as rain. Or at least somewhere stuck between fair and middlin."

"You're fixing to be stuck somewhere between dyin and dead if you try to cross me again," she said, following him as they left Benedict Point behind.

"It weren't like that at all!" he insisted. "Me intentions were pure. I swear it on me poor mother's grave. I just gets a tad confused from time to time. Honest mistake."

"You don't seem to have a high opinion of your mother so that doesn't mean much to me," said Jacklyn. "And if there is any more confusion I'll be finishin what your friends in Armadillo started."

"Jesus. You're an impatient lass aren't you?"

"When it comes to drunks."

"Ah," he breathed triumphantly, gazing at her like a seer just come to a grand enlightenment. "Was it your mum or your dad that was the mean drunk? It was me dear mum for me. She used to whoop me so hard that I'd forget me own name. You remind me a bit of her, actually."

"I'm not here to bond with you over our origins, Irish, I want to know where my gun is."

He sighed loudly. "Fine, fine. A bunch of miners got hold of the blasted thing. Flighty bastards have it holed up at Gaptooth Breach. I've never trusted miners. Spend too long without daylight and without doxies and it starts playin with your mind."

"There's some more of your bullshit. And yet they have the gun."

"That they do! Not far now, Jackie. But let's swing around the back here. If they start shootin you'll want some distance between you and them if they've got that gun set up."

"Don't call me that."

"Oh, and we'll need to get a wagon or somethin to get it out of there," Irish said. "That gun's heavier than sin!"

"So how was I supposed to move it by myself the last time? Two-faced little bastard."

They rode for some time through a region rife with prickly pear cacti and massive boulders shaped strangely like tombstones before turning off the main road and winding their way further into the narrows. At the foot of the canyon they stopped and took stock. There were a few men wandering about the site. They moved slowly and with their eyes downcast as though their time in the oppressive dark of the tunnels had imbued in them a distrust of the open sky. There was a track leading down into the mines and lamps hanging off the rock further into the cavern.

"The entrance is plain to see. See that?" said Irish. He was pointing up the hill. "That's a shaft them bastards use to haul out heavy ore. You can use that lift to get you and the gun to the surface. I'd do it all meself, but the mines play havoc with me sinuses. I'll find us a fine place to hide these horses and then return with a flat wagon."

Jacklyn dismounted and surveyed the area herself. "Alright. I'll meet you at the mouth of the mine shaft. And Irish— I strongly advise you don't run off again."  
  
"Don't worry, Marston. It'll be a piece of cake."

"That's exactly what you said the last time."

Two miners on horseback had noticed her and were making their way up the slope, both them with rifles resting on their saddlehorns. Jacklyn watched. She did not care at all for the strange glint in their eyes nor the shiftiness with which they stared at her. "Irish, are these fellas friendly?"

He did not answer. She turned her head and saw that he and the horses had vanished. When she looked back the miners had stopped but were leering uneasily at her and one had his rifle propped against his thigh. "What you doin all the way out here? Did you come to keep us company?"

"It's been a long time," wheezed the other, his teeth tobacco-brown behind the scraggly beard as he grinned down at her. "I hope yer built sturdier than ye look."

Jacklyn looked between them. Then she sighed and pulled her revolver. "After I kill you two I'm gonna stick a bullet in that useless drunk."


	9. Chapter 9

By the time Jacklyn had depopulated the mine, secured the gun, and sent Irish off to deliver it to Nigel West Dickens she was bruised and bloody and exhausted. She rode back east automatically, the daylight hours beginning to wane, her shadow and the shadow of her mount lengthening and warping on the trail before her. As she climbed the ridge it was a strange but welcome comfort to leave the desert and be once more in the golden prairie, the sun heavy behind her back where it sank to bed down in thick scarlet clouds.  
  
At the ranch she hitched her horse at her cabin and walked back to the road. She stood looking out over the property, watched the horses in the corral, watched the outriders as they harangued the cattle from the pastures and into their pens for the evening. Bonnie eventually revealed herself at the rear of the herd, swinging her horse along the back flank, the motions well-practiced and automatic. Jacklyn came to the fenceline and leaned up against the post and looked out towards her, watching Bonnie's face as she spoke to her horse and to the cattle. When Bonnie noticed Jacklyn there she grinned and rode around to where she stood.

"Stay there," Bonnie told her as she passed. "I'm just puttin him up."

"Yes ma'am."

After Bonnie had unsaddled her horse and set him loose in the corral she made her way back to where Jacklyn stood waiting. Her smile faltered as she approached and she frowned and pointed at Jacklyn's face. "You're bleeding."

Jacklyn followed Bonnie's eyes with her hand and raised it to her cheek. When she pulled it away her fingertips were red. She raised a brow. "Seems I am."

"You didn't notice?"

Jacklyn shrugged. "Haven't chanced upon many mirrors today."

Bonnie ignored the comment and kept studying the wound. "You should let me patch you up. Last place you want an infection is on that pretty face of yours."

Jacklyn shook her head, shifting beneath Bonnie's gaze. "It'll heal up on its own, I don't think you need bother yourself with it."

Bonnie simply rolled her eyes. "Jacklyn, I know you can't help but be a bit of a contrarian but there's no reason to argue with me over somethin so silly. Humor me and at least let me stick a bandage on it. It'll only take a moment."

"Well, if you insist."

"I insist."

They walked side by side back to the farmhouse. They were hardly through the door before Bonnie started asking her how she had gotten the cut.

"I don't know," admitted Jacklyn, wiping her boots on the mat at the front door and following Bonnie into the kitchen. "I've done a number of questionable things today. This could have happened at any one of them."

"Hmm," Bonnie said. "Interesting. What sorts of questionable things are we talkin here?"

"You really want to know?"

"Only if you wish to tell me about it. But yes, I do. I can't pretend that I'm not curious."

Bonnie pointed at a chair at the kitchen table and Jacklyn took a seat. She was quiet while Bonnie gathered her supplies and did not speak again until she had sat down catty-corner from her.

"Did you hear about Ridgewood?"

Bonnie nodded. "I did. It's awful."

"I was there afterwards, with the Marshal."

Bonnie sighed. "I'm sorry. I only heard a bit about it from Amos, incorrigible gossip that he is. We were gonna head that way in a couple days and see if we could help out at all."

"Livestock dead or stolen, all their hands killed. It was bad. Bad enough they'll need to start fresh," said Jacklyn. "And it's somehow worse that it was Bill's doing. I didn't think he was capable of it. Not after... well, after what we'd been through."

Bonnie looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I guess I just thought he knew better. I thought Dutch had taught him better."

"Well, based on what you told me, Dutch didn't do right by you. Left you to die more than once. Did wrong by other people...  It sounds to me like Bill Williamson isn't strayin too far from the path of his teacher."

Jacklyn fell quiet for a moment. Bonnie was not wrong and she knew it. "You make a fair point," she conceded. "But I guess it's still hard for me to reconcile the man I knew with the man he became."

Bonnie nodded. "You haven't spoken much of him."

"It's hard for me," murmured Jacklyn. She sat back in her chair, clearing her throat. "Hard for me to speak of much of that life. Of those men. Few of them went bad and I could care less about where they are now, Hell included, but there was good there too. Good men. Men who suffered an uglier end than what they deserved. I don't know how much I believe in redemption but there were a handful rare souls among us rabble that likely got as close as any of us could have."

"Where are they now?"

Jacklyn shook her head and blinked. Her eyes had been unfocused and distant as she spoke but they had sharpened back up and she sneered slightly. "Don't know about most of them but the best of us is dead. Dead and buried. Left where he died on top of a mountain in the wilderness. Discarded like trash by the man he'd given everything to."

She swallowed and cleared her throat again. "It's for the best. I wouldn't want him to see what's become of us now. Not after what I saw. I had the chance to speak to Bill, before he ran off. He's turned into a wild animal. A rabid dog that needs puttin down. He's become the exact sort of man that the people who hired me to get him said he'd become."

Bonnie raised her eyes to her a moment. "Did they same the same of you?"

Jacklyn did not answer. She watched as Bonnie took a small glass bottle and poured some of the contents on a cottonball.

"I won't pretend to understand what it was like, livin the life you've lived," said Bonnie, keeping her gaze locked with Jacklyn's. "But that's not your life anymore. Those men aren't."

Jacklyn shrugged. "Can't pretend it didn't happen."

"No, you can't. But you sure can learn from it. You can let go of the bad, honor the good."

Jacklyn considered that. Bonnie gently pressed it to Jacklyn's cheek and Jacklyn winced slightly. Bonnie smirked at the reaction. "What, the tough gunslinger can't handle a little sting?"

"That stuff is supposed to go in my mouth, not beside it."

Bonnie huffed out a little laugh. "I don't think you want to drink this. But let me know if you try, I'd like to see how that goes."

"You'll be the first to know."

"Did Bill or one of his boys give you this?"

"I don't think so. I think I got it in the mines. Scraped up on a rock or somethin."

"The mines?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "That story is less interesting, I promise."

Bonnie pulled the cottonball away. She rifled through her little first aid box and eventually pulled out two small adhesive bandages. "These won't stick long but hopefully they'll at least stay on overnight. I figure you'd rather me use these than wrap your entire head in gauze like I planned to."

She bent down towards Jacklyn and held her by the chin, turning her face to the side. She placed one bandage and glanced up and when she saw Jacklyn watching her she dropped her eyes and blushed. The second bandage was placed without a word and Bonnie gingerly traced her fingers along the edge of the wound to be sure they were not pulling at any skin. She leaned back slightly and examined her handiwork.

"Well, I think you might just pull through, Jacklyn Marston."

Jacklyn grinned and one of the bandages immediately popped off. Bonnie shook her head and stuck it back. "Don't do that."

"I'll try."

Bonnie was still bent over at the waist peering at Jacklyn's face though her gaze had moved from her cheek to her eyes. They each fixed the other with a stare. Bonnie's smile faltered and fell. Jacklyn swallowed and then looked away. "Thank you, Bonnie, for your doctorin and for your wisdom. I think I'm going to call it a night. Unless there's anything I can do to help you around the ranch first."

Bonnie shook her head, vaguely disappointed for reasons she was not sure she entirely understood. "No, you should get some rest. I'll see—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Miss MacFarlane?"

Bonnie frowned and straightened up. "Amos? Come on in."

He stepped into the kitchen, nodding at Jacklyn when he saw her before looking back to Bonnie. "Ma'am, have you seen your father?"

Bonnie shook her head. "I thought he was with you?"

"Well, he told me he was just goin for a walk round the ranch but he should've been back a while ago. No one has seen him since and we can't find him on the property. Don't mean to worry you but with what happened at Ridgewood I'm a little wary."

Bonnie paled. Jacklyn stood and put a hand on her shoulder. "Go fetch your horse. Let's go find him before it gets any darker."

They went outside, sending Amos back out to search the pastures once more. They mounted up and rode out west, aiming to work their way around the perimeter of the ranch. The sky behind them was a dark and murky navy and Bonnie was fighting a tremble in her voice as they cantered past the gates.

"I've got a bad feeling about this. It isn't like him."

"Don't worry, we'll find him."

"It's not like he's all that young anymore. What if he's hurt himself? What if someone else has?"

"Your father can handle himself just fine, Miss MacFarlane. He's built like an oak. They'd have to be fools to hassle him."

"I can't help worryin. He's all I got."

They rode on in silence, the both of them standing up in their stirrups to look out over the dim expanse. There were vague forms in the distance near the edge of the canyon and Jacklyn pointed towards them. "See that? Over there."

Drew was standing solitary in a sycamore clearing. A burned-out wagon was laying on its side near him, still smoking thinly. Vultures already circled above. All around were the fresh corpses of man and beast alike and blood had sunken dark into the earth and splattered out about the circle like spokes on a wheel. Some folk had been shot in the back of the head, others had their throats cut. They had all been burned to some degree. Their pockets were empty and their belongings ransacked and the wagon looted. The women rode up and Drew looked to them, wide-eyed. Bonnie looked between him and the carnage and then back again, her face shifting as she worked to comprehend what she was seeing. "Pa? Are you alright? What happened here?"

The horses quivered nervously on this bloodied ground. Drew looked around as if the bodies about him defied rational explanation, like this breed of viciousness was unknown to him. "Nothin nice," he said. "Road agents, perhaps. You go back and get the wagon. And send Amos to Armadillo to fetch the sheriff, he needs to know about this."

"Pa, are you sure you're alright?"

"Bonnie, I'm not some damn invalid who can't handle a little ugliness. Now do as I say. And Marston, you stick with her. If there's men like this about I don't want her alone."

They took off again. Bonnie's expression matched her father's. She looked back over her shoulder with troubled eyes. "Who could have done that to those men? They even killed the horses."

Jacklyn swallowed, eyes rigid with anger. She knew exactly the sort of men to enact such brutality upon those unlucky travelers. "That's Bill's work," she said. "That's what it looked like at Ridgewood."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. They're still somewhere around here. We need to get you back to the ranch. Someplace safe. This is retribution."

"Retribution for what?"

Jacklyn did not answer. Bonnie looked over to her. In the last light of day her face had a grim cast to it and shadows fell deep in the contours of her cheeks.

"Jacklyn. For what?"

"For Ridgewood. And for you helpin me. They'll come here next."

Bonnie looked away and shook her head. "Slaughterin innocent folk out of cowardice and fear. You really had some fine friends, didn't you?"

"He wasn't always like this. Somethin changed."

"You keep saying that," said Bonnie. "Like you and your gang were the heroes once. Like there was some twisted morality to what you were doin. And you talk about Dutch like some kind of messiah. You stole. You killed people. I bet you killed more people than Bill Williamson has."

Jacklyn glanced sharply at her. "I bet I have. You have somethin else you want to say about it?"

Bonnie shook her head. Her cheeks were red and the fear in her eyes matched her anger. "It's disgusting."

"I never claimed to be anything other than what I said I am," said Jacklyn, her voice low and cold. "You're the one that kept insisting otherwise. Maybe if you had minded your own damn business then you wouldn't have had to go through the disappointment of realizing you were wrong."

Bonnie opened her mouth to retort but the acrid smell of burning wood assaulted her senses and she froze.

"Is that smoke?"

They both looked towards the ranch. Over the tops of the trees lining the fence was a pale shroud of smoke hardly visible against the night sky.

"Oh my God."

They both spurred their horses on. It was only once they were nearly upon the gates that they could see the flames licking their way up the walls of the barn and thick dark smoke pouring into the sky through the windows and painting it black, cancelling out the faint stars as it spread. The cattle and horses were calling out frantically under the shroud and the ranch hands were shouting and prying at the barn doors with crowbars and pitchforks and any other implements they could get their hands on but they could not get them open. Bonnie and Jacklyn came to a sliding halt before the burning barn and some of the men ran about with buckets of water that did nothing to quench the inferno.

Amos was hollering something over the chaos and holding his head in his hands. Bonnie was off her horse and she stood watching helplessly, her face a mask of devastation. Horses were screaming from inside the barn.

"Is there some other way in?" asked Jacklyn, shouting over other shouts.

Bonnie shook her head. "Only the bay door on the upper level, at the back, and you can't—"

Jacklyn suddenly took off around the side of the barn, not waiting for Bonnie to finish. Bonnie ran after her.

"Jacklyn!"

Bonnie could just barely see her where she stood in darkness, looking at the wall. There was a shed at the back corner that sat just below the water tower. Jacklyn clambered up the side of the shed and ran across the roof, jumping up and grabbing the side of the tower and heaving herself up. Bonnie stood below, her heart racing.

"You're gonna get yourself killed you fool!"

Jacklyn ignored her and leapt from the tower walkway to the scaffolding on the edge of the barn's roof, again heaving herself up onto the walkway and vaulting into the bay door at the top to vanish completely into the smoke.

"Jacklyn!"

There was no reply. Bonnie cursed and ran back around to the front. One of the men had tried to break a window to get in but the flames that had erupted out from it had burnt him badly and he was sitting off to the side dazed and raw-looking. The other men still working at the door were black around their hands and faces. The flames whipped higher and higher and Bonnie watched mutely, the dread in her heart giving way to hopelessness.

Then the doors were shoved open from the inside. The smoke that poured out was oppressive in its thickness and volume and it hung over them like a blanket and drifted across the road. The fire spilled out along the frame and standing in the doorway was Jacklyn, her arm covering her mouth, blackened as though she were a thing born of the flames herself. Bonnie ran in immediately for the horses and Jacklyn reached for her and grasped her arm and forced her back.

There was too much smoke and Bonnie reeled, choking. Jacklyn took another breath and turned back into the barn and disappeared. Two of the horses ran out of there like ghosts from a malignant fog and when part of the barn burned away and collapsed before the door Jacklyn rode the last one out wild-eyed and bucking, the end of his tail scorched. At the corral she dropped off his side and staggered towards the fence and leaned against it and coughed and coughed, her throat raw and her eyes burning.

The men fought the open flames with renewed vigor and had soon stanched the worst of them or had simply let them burn themselves out. The barn stood smoking, the embers glowing. Amos and Bonnie emerged from the haze and Amos clapped Jacklyn on the shoulder and shook her hand. "Thank you, Miss Marston. That was a hell of a thing you just did."

She nodded, clearing her throat as she wheezed out a reply. "Glad I could help."

He grinned and slapped her shoulder again and hurried back to the barn to tend to his wounded men. Bonnie and Jacklyn stood there looking at each other, the both of them slightly scorched and harried-looking like the survivors of some strange accident. Bonnie took a long breath and stepped forward, taking Jacklyn into her arms. Jacklyn immediately went rigid but did not step away.

"You crazy, foolish woman. I'm sorry. I said some awful things to you and I regret them deeply," said Bonnie, her mouth muffled against Jacklyn's shoulder.

"Bonnie."

"No, listen. I saw something ugly and in turn I acted ugly and you didn't deserve it. I hope you can forgive me."

Jacklyn shook her head, her arms still stiff at her sides. "There's nothing to apologize for. You aren't wrong."

Bonnie sighed and stepped back. She frowned, looking at Jacklyn's cheek. "You're bleeding again."

Bonnie instinctively raised her hand as if to touch her but Jacklyn leaned away and reached up herself to swipe at the blood. Bonnie winced. "Don't do that. Just let me bandage it."

"It's fine," said Jacklyn, dropping her hand and dropping her eyes. "I'm sorry for all this."

"It's not your fault. You didn't set fire to the place. You saved us again, really."

"That's just not true. If I'd never come here, this wouldn't have happened. Bill wouldn't have had any call to do this."

Bonnie raised a brow. "Would you have rather that I left you to die by the road?"

"Would've been better for you."

"Jacklyn, quit bein stupid."

Jacklyn shook her head. Her eyes were dark and stormy, a seething anger working at the backs of them, her mouth a flat line. "It's the truth, unfortunately. Won't do either of us any favors pretendin otherwise. Only way you'll be safe is if I stay from here."

Bonnie paused. "Stay from here?"

Jacklyn nodded. "Bill will use you to get to me. He's already started. He would've burned down the whole place if he could've."

"You think I'm scared of trash like Bill Williamson?"

"If you aren't, you're a fool," said Jacklyn. "You saw what he did to those people your father found. I saw even worse at Ridgewood. He's dangerous. Him and his men. And frankly I am too. Maybe more so. I've got no business hangin round here. Not after this."

"You're the fool," accused Bonnie, her voice sharp with indignation. "Blaming yourself for things you didn't do and running away because you think it'll fix anything."

"I'm not running anywhere," Jacklyn snapped. "I'm trying to keep you safe. Why the hell do you want me around here so bad anyway? I've done nothing but cause you trouble since I got here."

"Why? You're my friend, you infuriating woman. I understand that you probably have no idea how true friendship works after living with that gang of yours, but we're supposed to stick by each other, for good and bad. Yet all you ever do is push me away."

"I won't trade your well-being for our friendship. It's not worth your life. I'm not worth that."

"Jacklyn, I thought by now I would've heard all the nonsense you were capable of speaking. Seems I was wrong. This is just plain ridiculous."

"Call it what you want. Keep livin in a fantasy and see how well it serves you," Jacklyn said, gesturing at the barn in contempt. "Clearly it hasn't worked out too well so far, and I'm not gonna risk it getting worse. I'm leaving and I'm stayin gone til I have Bill. That's the only way this won't end in tragedy."

Bonnie clenched her jaw. "You know what? You go ahead and do whatever you think is best, Jacklyn Marston. That's all you'll ever do anyway," she said, her throat tight. "So go. Get gone if that's what you want."

Jacklyn stared at her a long moment. She looked like she had more to say. Instead she turned and walked away without another word, fetching her horse and taking off west towards a black sky and a pale desert. Bonnie watched her until she could no longer see her and then she stood there staring at the point on the horizon where she had disappeared. She exhaled and swiped angrily at the tears threatening to fall. Her hands were trembling. She shook them out and then she shook her head but those troubling thoughts were not so easily dispelled and it was with great misgiving and regret that she finally turned away.


	10. Chapter 10

It was nearly midnight by the time Jacklyn reached Armadillo. The moon sat forlorn and half-shadowed, cold light on the paper mountain line to the east. At the hotel she did not sleep. She sat down at the bar and fouled her temper further with shots of whiskey. None dared speak to her and she drank in silence, dark shadows heavy beneath her eyes. At the break of dawn a pale light fell in shelves through the slatted saloon doors. She stood up from her place and stepped outside, blinking against the haze of a low, cold sun. Her horse, still hitched to the post, gazed at her with what she judged to be contempt.

"I don't need to hear it from you, you hateful bastard," she told him.

He snorted at her and pawed at the dirt. She mounted and then sat him in the middle of the street, staring down the way. She had a number of things to be furious about but none dominated her thoughts more than what had happened with Bonnie.

"There is no description of a fool that you fail to satisfy," she told herself matter-of-factly, considering that moment at the table, then the moment she had pulled away from Bonnie's outstretched hand where they stood in the corral, smoke framing her face, worry and something else in her reddened eyes. She shook her head at herself. "None at all."

She closed her eyes. Her head throbbed and her mouth was as dry as the desert floor. An accounting would be necessary before the siege on Fort Mercer and she knew the sooner that she got Bill the sooner Bonnie would be safe. The sooner she could leave this place and all its cruel impossibilities behind. She clucked her horse up and took the southeast road out of town and then turned at the fork back towards Coot's Chapel. Crows perched on the roof, hunkered in down in their wings like dark bishops in their vestments and they cawed menacingly at her as she approached. A chill morning wind set the weeds along the fenceline to gnashing. There was a wagon with two wretched mules stood up within the cemetery near the gate. Jacklyn drew to a halt and dismounted and called for Seth. A long moment passed. She called again. This time his head popped up out of the back of the wagonbed.

"Howdy," he said. He squinted at her from under his filthy hat.

She walked around the side of the wagon. It was loaded with desiccated corpses. Already the flies had begun to swarm and they snarled and fought within the stench. Seth hopped down and hoisted another body up with the others, singing to himself all the while. Jacklyn stood watching, red-eyed and bleak.

"I don't want to know what's goin on here," she finally said. "What I would like to know is whether you're ready to help us get into Fort Mercer. We have the gun and we have the wagon, we just need our distraction."

Seth shook his head, still struggling with the final corpse. "Not quite. Not quite ready. You see, I wasted a bunch of time lookin for that last bit of the map. And I gots to thinkin: Moses was a liar! And I imagined myself doin all kinds of unpleasant things to his corpse and then I realized—"

"Realized that you and I had a deal?" she asked.

He shook his head again. He was getting agitated, as if every word of explanation were a labor. "No, I realized Moses weren't no liar! The issue was Aiden O'Leary, who said he had the body. Aiden died in that flu epidemic and the bodies wasn't even buried yet! I've-I've-I've—"

"You got the bodies in that wagon."

He nodded excitedly, a hard counter to Jacklyn's sullen resignation towards these circumstances. "Honest folk," said Seth. "Off to a better place. Apart from that Aiden O'Leary fella, I never liked him. They say he laid with his sister..."

Seth's voice faded off and he dropped his eyes. "I don't like women. I don't. Not since mammy died."

"Well I'm not here to try and court you, Seth. What are you doin with these bodies?"

"I'm gonna take them back to a nice spot and look for the map," he said, soft and quiet. He kept his eyes low, not seeming to really look at anything. "I needs the map, partner. I needs it. I'm so close. I can't let someone else get it now."

She regarded him a long moment, hunched and pitiful, glancing up at her like a scolded dog. She shook her head at herself again and exhaled heavily. "Someday I'll pay the price for playin nice. Where did you have in mind?"

"Tumbleweed," he said immediately, clambering back up into the bed. "I'll show you the way. I know a nice, secluded spot. Real quiet."

Jacklyn climbed into the wagon and set the mules down the road, taking the first left at the fork to keep the show from Armadillo and driving along with the sun at their backs. Seth was soon rifling through the pockets of one of their unwilling passengers with the intensity of a man compelled.

"By the way," he said. "I saw Mr. West Dickens. He told me there's no ammunition for that machine gun of yours."

"Sounds like I need to pay Irish another visit," said Jacklyn, tallying up yet another grievance against him as she considered how he might be repaid for his continued ineptitude. "When did you talk to West Dickens?"

"Couple days ago. He's camped out at Cueva Seca. He done got chased out of Plainview and had to hide out. Reckon he'd probably like a word with you."

She nodded. "He'll get more than that."

They drove along winding backcountry roads, past low hills teeming with acacia and cacti and other spiny life. Coyotes trotted about with their noses low to the ground and Seth spoke gently to the dead as he freed them of their worldly possessions, now and then pocketing something for himself, making sure to hand any found bullets to Jacklyn, and then he rolled the corpses unceremoniously out the back of the wagon once he was finished with them.

They climbed up a steady incline into the western highlands and were soon loping across the neglected wooden bridge into the abandoned town of Tumbleweed. The place lay before them in ruins. The houses leaned sideways near bare of their nails and the wood was rotten and the paint stripped and peeled by sun and wind. Vultures picked at a long-dead animal in the center of town and plant life wound its way along the walkways. The entire settlement was well on its way to being reclaimed by the land. The remnants of the church were just off the roadside past the bridge and Jacklyn stopped the wagon before the iron gate. Seth only had a couple more bodies to search and suddenly from the bed there was the rustling of paper and a joyful screech.

"Christ alive! The map! It's here! And the treasure's in Tumbleweed! If this ain't fuckin fate then I don't know what is!"

Jacklyn stepped down from the wagon. "Where? In town?"

He nodded, the map fluttering about in his trembling hands. "At that big house yonder."

He pointed to a decrepit manor at the peak of a low hill, the stone walls crumbling around it. It sat grey and faceless in the gloom and the windows were all broken.

"That place looks fit to collapse," she said. "And it seems like anythin of value would've been looted years ago."

"Well that's why you ain't the damn treasure hunter, ain't it?"

"Don't test me, Seth. Let's go get your treasure and get the hell out of here."

Seth could not help but step spryly and sing to himself as they moved up towards the mansion, in high spirits all the way up until a bullet aimed for his head went wide and shattered a window in the house he had just passed by. He yelped and ducked and Jacklyn dropped down behind a wall and pulled her rifle. The shot had come from up the hill and it was only moments before a voice called to them from further into town.

"Thanks for doin all the hard work, Seth! Now kill em', boys!"

"Goddamn it!" Seth hissed. "Moses must've sold us out! I'll skin him alive! I'll cook him up and feed him to the pigs!"

"You can do all that when we aren't gettin shot at," Jacklyn told him. "Get your gun out and help me kill these fools first."

Seth's pistol seemed to shoot much where it chose but he served as adequate cover fire while Jacklyn picked off the band of fortune seekers, advancing towards the mansion as their numbers thinned out. Soon they were fighting a running engagement up the slope of the hill where the last of the attackers had taken refuge behind the porch railing before they too were shot down where they knelt.

The front door was locked. Seth howled in fury and came near to clawing at it with his hands before Jacklyn could pry him away and lead him to find the basement door.

"Gonna be rich," he sang out as they descended into the basement and reappeared inside the kitchen, traipsing through dust that looked to have gone undisturbed for years. His eyes had taken on a strange, euphoric gleam and he all but pushed Jacklyn out of the way when they finally found the chest tucked back behind a half-collapsed wall in the master bedroom. When Seth laid eyes on it he whooped out and commenced with a jig of his own design.

"Finally! I can see the light at the end of this long, long tunnel," he sang. He dropped to his knees before the chest and ran his hands over the lock. "After all these years, Seth is gonna be rich. It's silk sheets and Parisian whores from now on, Marston!"

He pulled his knife and wedged it into the lock, smacking it several times with the heel of his naked fist to break it open. It clicked and fell apart and he was shaking as he slid the lock off and opened the lid. He stared long into the bottom of it. His red-rimmed eyes widened in utter disbelief.

"What in the goddamn hell is this?"

He reached in and picked up the treasure, holding it up to the light between two fingers. It was round and ivory-colored, and as Seth turned it his mouth went slack as he realized what it was.

"A glass eye?"

Jacklyn, who had been quiet since they had made it into the house, began to chuckle, unable to help herself. "I'm sure whoever that belonged to treasured it very much."

Seth kept looking between her and the eye as though he were not sure who to direct his hysteria at. His expression became ugly with rage and he clenched the orb hard in his fist. "Stupid liars... with their stupid chicken-shit maps! Makin a damn fool of me. A glass eye! It's a glass eye!"

"Get up," Jacklyn snapped, having had enough of watching this man fall to pieces before her. She grabbed him hard by the arm and yanked him to his feet. "You've got your treasure so I've done my part. I need to know you'll be at Fort Mercer when I come calling."

Seth looked dazed. He looked at the glass eye and then back to her and then at the floor.

"Seth."

He flinched. Then he swallowed, eyes still on the floor. "I guess diggin up dead man's treasure ain't done me no favors," he said softly. "I'm ready for the livin. For a little while, at least."

Jacklyn nodded. "Glad to hear it. Come on. Let's get out of here before this place falls down on top of us."

They walked back outside and back to the wagon. The return trip to Coot's Chapel was long and quiet and Seth lay curled up in the wagonbed examining the eye. "It ain't so bad," he would say now and then.

Jacklyn peered at them over her shoulder. "I bet that thing is cursed."

He gave her a dirty look and held it closer to his chest, turning so she could not see it. "She don't mean it," Seth told the eye.

 

======•======

 

At Coot's Chapel Seth hopped down off the wagon and strode around to where Jacklyn stood, the eye still grasped in his hand.

"I reckon you're off to see West Dickens," he said.

She nodded. "Where did you say he was?"

"Cueva Seca. I've spent many a night there myself. Nice little place. I'll mark it on your map."

He did and Jacklyn took her leave, abandoning the wagon to Seth and mounting her horse and riding northwest. It was high noon, the sun pale and small where it sat between drifting clouds. She wound her way back up towards the hills of Gaptooth Breach and swung up through the desert plain, a slow and drifting traverse that set soul and mind to wander. She stopped twice and only to consult her map. Loping along the ridge she spotted the cave and the flutter of a curtain and then the corner of West Dickens' coach.

Both of the horses had been unharnessed and stood tied to the side of the wagon, swatting flies and shaking their ears. There was a rudimentary camp set up in the shade beneath a shelf of rock where a fire smoked thinly. Nigel West Dickens had removed his hat and coat and stood pissing in the dirt, his eyes closed as he hummed to himself and rocked back on his heels.

"Mr. West Dickens."

He jumped and spun towards the voice. He laughed nervously at her, shaking himself off and fastening his pants as he made his way over. "Ah, Miss Marston!" he said, reaching up to wipe sweat off his brow. "You walk soft as a wildcat, my girl. Scared the living daylights out of me. But it's wonderful to see you, my dear. Just wonderful."

"I'm sure it is," she said humorlessly. "So, we ready?"

"Yes, madam," he paused. "Well, nearly, madam. Fairly nearly. I just need some cash to get some extra hardware fitted to my old Trojan horse here," he said, patting the side of the coach.

"Your what?"

West Dickens dismissed her question with a flutter of his hand and a little smile. "Never mind. I can only presume that you have not enjoyed the benefits of a classical education, so I will not take umbrage if some of my allusions sail over your head, my dear."

Jacklyn narrowed her eyes and took a slow step. He flinched. She took another. "I won't pretend to understand you, but I will endeavor to make you understand me. Either we get this going, as we agreed, or I'm gonna put a bullet in you and get on with my day."

"Please, I know you are a violent woman, Miss Marston, but I do not think you are a stupid one," said West Dickens, wilting slightly beneath her glare. "We need money to outfit my carriage, to turn a simple craftsman's vehicle into something more subterfuge. And I'm about to tell you how we are going to gain said cash."

"It best not involve peddlin more of that snake oil."

"No, I'm afraid I'm going to have to shelve that business for the time being," he said with a dismal sigh. "The locals are too superstitious and too easily provoked to riot. No, my dear, we are once again going to use your natural talents in our favor in a... slightly less manipulative way. You and that... that animal, of yours, are going to race. There is a meet this afternoon, actually."

"How convenient."

West Dickens laughed. "God works in mysterious ways, does he not? It's back to Rathskeller Fork for us. Let me just get my coat while you harness the horses."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind, I'll take care of that."

Once again they set out side by side, the wheels of the coach rambling and clattering over the low rocky hills before they merged with the trail.

"How are you doing, Jacklyn?" West Dickens asked suddenly, very nearly as if out of concern.

"Fine."

He tutted. "There's no need to be cagey, my girl. You're looking a little... worn down."

"Maybe it's because I have to spend day after day wrangling degenerates and liars."

"Come now, my shortcomings aren't nearly so bad, all things considered. You treat me like a common murderer."

"I treat you exactly as you've asked to be treated: like a snake that can't be trusted. I've come to know maybe two honest folk since I got here, and you ain't one of them."

"I'm surprised there's someone who meets your lofty standards," he said dismissively.

"Don't kid yourself, you crook. The only reason you haven't been tarred and feathered already is because you're far luckier than you deserve to be."

He did not argue her point and instead turned his gaze back to the trail. "Speaking of crooks, how did you find me?"

"Seth. Saw him this morning. He told me you were chased out here by an angry mob."

"That's not entirely untrue," he admitted. "But it's onwards and upwards! I refuse to let the blind stupidity of the proletariat derail my calling in life."

Jacklyn stared coldly at him. "Nothin blind about it. I'd say they saw right through you. And if you're such a successful businessman, what're you doin living in a cave?"

"Delightfully Dickensian, isn't it?"

"If you say so."

"Are you familiar with the concept of philanthropy, Jacklyn?"

"I'm surprised you are."

"Oh, I don't do any of this for myself, Jacklyn. I hope you realize that."

"You're crazy, old man," she said, pulling up her horse as they neared the settlement. "You somehow seem to forget that I've been a part of your ridiculous charade from the beginning."

West Dickens grinned down at her. "It's been quite a ride, hasn't it?"

Jacklyn shook her head but she did not disagree with him. "That it has. But you and I aren't quite done, much as it pains me to say so."

"Oh, believe me, I'm well aware."

"And while we're on the subject of men I want to give a good hiding to, I've also been informed by Seth that Irish didn't supply any ammo for the gun."

West Dickens nodded. "Yes, he seemed quite distraught by that development. He was particularly concerned as to how you might handle the news. He mentioned he was riding off to Thieves Landing to remedy his mistake, however."

"That's good. I know where I'm headed once we're finished here."

They looped up the low hills, the dust-stained walls of Rathskeller Fork looming ahead. West Dickens hopped down off the coach and went off to sign them up for the race while Jacklyn sat her horse in the dirt yard and watched as men walked about with some leading their animals behind them, some tightening saddles and lifting hooves to check for cracks. A few seemed to recognize her and her horse from the previous meet and they regarded her with unfriendly stares.

"Post time is in an hour, my dear," called West Dickens as he strode back across the lot. "May as well put him up for a bit and let him meditate on the race ahead."

Jacklyn dismounted, gifting her horse with a gentle slap to the side of his nose when he leaned his head forward in an attempt to bite West Dickens' hat. She hitched him and turned and squinted across the way. "Any place to get a drink round here?"

West Dickens grinned and put a hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the cantina at the end of the row. "My treat, my dear."

The men inside threw glares at the duo as they stepped up to the counter. West Dickens ordered whiskeys for the both of them and they drank and ordered two more. A sideways glance from a fellow racer and his posse led to a bet and a third set of drinks, then a fourth round to all those on site, courtesy of West Dickens, so by the end of the hour the lot of them, riders and all, were unruly as they poured from the cantina and went to mount their horses. Jacklyn was not quite drunk but she was close and as she clambered onto her horse and settled into the saddle she had to close her eyes a moment to keep the world from spinning.

"You just bet that fellow double or nothing that you'd win by ten lengths!" West Dickens was saying from somewhere behind her, dismay clear in his voice. "Ten! And you used my money to do it!"

Jacklyn ignored him and turned off towards the starting line, tilted slightly to one side, though she was far from the only one. The men sitting their horses on the road were leaning back heavily in the saddles and staring and sweating as though sun-drunk. The announcer, who had been present for the festivities in the cantina, eyed the group warily as he took his place at the front of the line.

"Ladies, gentlemen, this will be a fair race. No shootin, stabbin, cliff-pushin, rock-throwin, cactus-grindin, neck-lassoin, settin fires, or other acts that causes a rider to unfairly lose his or her way, nor bleed heavily or black out. If someone in front of you slides off the side of his horse, be courteous and move around so as to not trample them. Well, so now that's been said, y'all can get to runnin each other off the road like always! Get yourselves ready. Get set! Go!"

The beasts lurched forward as one, like water loosed from a dam, the clatter of hooves and the raising of dust quickly shattering the solemn afternoon quiet of the desert as the horde swung down into the canyon. Almost immediately a fellow at the front was roughly shoved from his mount by the rider beside him and the man screamed and then vanished where he rolled off the side of the trail. Jacklyn, about fourth from the front, took advantage of the gap and spurred her way to the lead, a lead she would not relinquish for the entirety of the race.

In the end, as she hurtled over the finish line, well above ten lengths ahead and hardly in control of her mount, West Dickens stood hunkered over in laughter as the spectators cursed and bickered and spat and threw their hats in the dirt. He was still drunk and in a fine temper, and he kept saying "another round on me, you poor saps. It's the least I can do. The least I can do."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Threats of sexual violence and acts of physical violence (more than usual, at least).

"Do you think we can have it rebuilt by October? Father still has the original blueprints."

Amos shrugged. "We might, ma'am. But it'll take a bit to get all this burned wood out the way. Might be able to salvage some of it but most of it ain't worth keepin."

Bonnie surveyed the wreckage of the barn, the streaks of black where they ran up the frames of the windows and the paint where it had melted and gathered at the bottom of the wood. "I just worry about the spring colts not having stalls when it starts cooling off. What if one of them gets sick?"

"I know. I'd like thinkin we could get it done before then, I just can't guarantee it."

"Well, do what you can," she said wearily. Amos nodded at her and excused himself. She stood there staring at the charred ruins, the leaning supports and the lines of broken glass. After a time she sighed and turned on her heel and made her way to the house. She did not bother glancing over at the little cabin by the blacksmith's because she knew there would be no horse hitched before the door and no light at the window above the cot.

Her father was sitting on the porch looking out over the property and he patted the spot on the bench beside him. Bonnie sat down heavily and sighed again. The sun had set beyond the ridge and a great dark shadow slowly descended upon the prairie valley.

"Long day?" Drew asked her, after she had gotten settled.

Bonnie shook her head. "Oh, nothin different from the one before."

"Was the day before a long one?"

"Sure. The one before that too. And so on, and so on."

"You've been takin someone with you to patrol at night?"

"Pa, they're not going to bother us again. They wanted Jacklyn off the ranch and they got it. She hasn't been back in days. I haven't the faintest notion where she is."

Drew pulled his mouth to the side, his mustache bristling. "These boys are animals. I trust them to keep to themselves about as much as I would a snake in the chicken coop. And I'm not sure so I trust Marston so much anymore either. She shows up and all a sudden we've got thugs trying to burn the place down. Folk gettin killed on the property line. I don't like it one bit."

"It's not her fault. They're after her because she's after their boss."

"Bonnie—"

"She's done good by us," Bonnie insisted. "I'm furious with her, don't get me wrong, but that's twice now she's saved the ranch from total ruin. And I don't think you can blame the stampede on her, as much as you'd seem to like to, like every other bit of bad luck we have."

"Now hang on a minute," said Drew, raising a conciliatory hand. "I'm not saying she's the villain here. I just don't want you gettin hurt. She might be playing rancher when she's with you but in her heart she's a mercenary and you'd be wise to remember that her job will always come above her friendships."

Bonnie glanced at him sharply. "Had I known I was sittin down to a lecture I wouldn't have stayed out here."

"You're my daughter," he said, tilting his head as he regarded her. "I'm just lookin out for you."

Bonnie's glare softened. She never could be angry with him for long and she quickly relented and rested her head on his broad shoulder. They sat in the quiet for a while, evening noises of crickets and mockingbirds bleeding into the ambience of the ranch as things wound down.

"I'm worried about her," murmured Bonnie.

"I know you are. She's a tough gal though. From what I've seen she can handle herself just fine."

She nodded but said nothing. It was a different sort of worry, a worry that Jacklyn Marston would disappear completely before Bonnie had a chance to put into words what she needed to say to her.

"I'm goin to lay down a little while before I go on patrol," she said suddenly, standing up from the bench and smoothing down her front. "I'll see you in the morning. Don't forget we're going by Ed Critchley's tomorrow, to pick up those goats."

"I still don't know how you talked me into buying those awful things," he said, standing up after her. He paused. "Do you want me to ride with you tonight?"

She smiled and stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll be fine, pa. I carry that rifle for a reason and I know how to use it."

He nodded and squeezed her hand and let her leave. She walked upstairs slowly, each step a labor in and of itself as her lingering smile faded. Her mind and heart felt heavy and tempestuous, roiling with half-tangible notions and ideations she could not put name or form too. She was laden with uncertainty, with doubt. Her rest was fitful and by the time she had pulled herself awake to step out into the cool night air she was resigned to her weariness. She fetched her horse up and mounted and began her circuit around the back of the ranch, checking the garden and the back lots and the gate to the corral. Dark shapes crossed in and out of her vision at the edge of the woods but they quickly vanished back into the trees and she took them for deer or coyotes and moved on.

This night was grim, the sky starless and hazy. Even the moon had gone into hiding behind a celestial shroud that blackened the earth and set a hush all about her. She rode slowly back through the ranch to check the chicken coops and the pens and then back onto the road to turn south and cut a route through the pastures. The only sounds around her were the clinking of her saddle and the rhythmic hoofbeats of her horse as they thudded through the grass. From the pale ridgeline she watched bats come flying by the hundreds out of a flute of rock and take off shrieking like winged scions called up directly from the depths and then they dissolved into the night and there was quiet once more.

Bonnie did not hear them when they snuck up on her, crouched low in the overgrowth and stalking quiet as wildcats. One of them leapt out of the brush and grabbed her horse by the bridle while another pulled her off the animal's side and stuffed a rag in her mouth. She shouted against his hand and flailed her arms and legs and kicked out, feeling bone shift under her heel as it connected with flesh. One of her attackers groaned and cursed and then Bonnie went limp as he clocked her once hard on the side of her head with his fist, dazed in the dark, tasting blood where she had bit down on her cheek. She could not see their faces but she could smell them. Sweat and tobacco smoke, gunpowder and lamp oil, the stench of the unbathed. They bound her wrists and ankles and hefted her onto the back of one of their horses. She lay over his rump bound to the saddle by rope and the rest of them fetched their horses from where they hid in the dark and fled off into the night. By the hoofbeats she counted maybe three or four horses and they were met by many more on the way to their destination. Tied as she was any attempt to struggle was futile and eventually she laid still, thumping up and down against the back of the saddle. Her kidnappers traveled backroads and then directly through the wilderness, riding as the crow flies and avoiding the main roads for fear of citizenry. Their journey was shrouded in blackness and no one talked the entire way and all Bonnie could see at that angle over the rear of the horse was an aerial view of the desert floor.

The ride was long and horrible, her belly sore and bruised. Every hoofbeat from the horse knocked the wind out of her and she struggled to breathe around the rag in her mouth. Eventually the horde slowed and crossed a short wooden bridge over a narrow crag and Bonnie knew where they were. Tumbleweed sat before them vague and shapeless in the murk, the half-collapsed buildings lending to the space the feeling of an ancient ruin. They rode through the town and pulled to a halt at the end of the road. They pulled her roughly from the horse and hauled her inside the manor at the top of the hill and set her down in a wooden chair just inside the door where they tied her. She fought them every step and started screaming and cursing them even with the rag still in her mouth and one of them brought a knee up and got her in the belly. Then he slapped her while she leaned doubled over and he put his stinking, greasy face close up to her own. He had a long scar over one cloudy eye. He was smiling, broken teeth catching the faint light like shards of glass hanging from a shattered window.

"I'm gonna take the rag out your mouth as a courtesy," he said. "You try hollerin again and I'll shove it down your goddamn throat, you get me?"

She nodded mutely. He pulled it out and she spat at him and called them all cowards. He calmly shook his head at her. "No use in any of that, now. Ain't no one else out here anyway. It's just you, and all of us."

Bonnie looked around. There were maybe half a dozen men leering at her in that room and she could hear more upstairs and in the kitchen and others moving around in the basement. The house smelled of urine and mold and smoke. She tugged uselessly at the ropes. The cloudy-eyed man grabbed her by the chin and made her look him in the face. The men laughed and told her to kiss him. These were Williamson's boys. There was no unifying factor in their outfit or age or race but they all had that same rabid, vicious look about them that leaned closer to beast than man.

"A lot of us are real unhappy with you, Miss MacFarlane," he said, his reeking breath hot on her cheek. "Real unhappy. Never would've given you any trouble at all if you would have just let that she-devil bitch Marston die on the side of the road like she was supposed to."

Bonnie tried to get out of his hold but he grabbed her hair and yanked back hard. "So, you're gonna spend a little time with us now, and you're gonna be real friendly, else these boys might be inclined to act up and I don't reckon you'd like that much. You understand?"

She spat in his face and he hit her across the jaw. She spat out a little blood and he pulled his knife and cut open her shirt, slicing her chest shallowly, and then he stood staring at her. He nodded, his eyes strange in the murk. "Best behave yourself now, Miss MacFarlane. Best behave."

The night passed slowly. At all hours men came by to croon and grab at her with their filthy hands and make threats that they never carried out. Soon they were staggering by stinking of alcohol and firing their pistols drunkenly at the roof and out the busted windows and they passed out about her on the floor, on the moldy couches. None of them gave any indication as to what they intended to do with her and she could only tell the hour by the angle of the thin pale rows of light that dropped through the gaps in the planks boarded over the windows. There was refuse and broken glass all over the place and thick dust on all surfaces and it floated glowing in the air white and thick as pollen as it drifted down to a floor that Jacklyn Marston herself had walked just days previous.

In the pale grey morning the men moved about her cleaning their weapons and loading them up and some of them had sticks of dynamite and others prepared rows of Molotovs and put them in crates and carried them outside. A messenger arrived bearing news and though she did not hear what he said it did cause the thug from last night to come over and untie Bonnie from the chair. She stood stiffly while he bound her wrists behind her back.

"We're settin up a little exchange," he told her. "Tradin you for Norman Deek. Except that ain't how it's goin down. You'll have a real nice view of it when I put a bullet in Jacklyn Marston's fucking head myself."

They pushed her out the door blinking into the light with whispy clouds spread out along the horizon while golden pillars billowed out before the sun. Too beautiful a sky for such an ugly morning. The men were in a hateful mood and they prodded and shoved Bonnie down the hill as they moved into town. She tripped and bloodied her knees against the stones and she cursed at them and they laughed and hauled her up roughly by the arm only to push her back down again.

When she saw the gallows and the noose swaying solemnly from the scaffolding she dug her heels into the dirt and squirmed and the cloudy-eyed thug in charge of her pressed the barrel of his pistol into her temple. She froze.

"Best cooperate, Miss MacFarlane." He gently slid the pistol down her cheek and left it under her jaw as he urged her along. "We talked about this. We've been rather hospitable with you but if you keep fuckin around we aren't above gettin rude."

He shoved her up and stepped her on the stool and yanked the noose over her head, tightening the knot just under her left ear. The rope was already taut and she knew that if the stool was removed her neck would not break. She would hang there til she ran out of air. The thug stayed there with her and readied his weapons and the rest spread out over the town, a firearm in one hand and a bottle or stick of dynamite in the other or stuck in their belts. Some crouched on the tops of roofs, some peeked out behind corners and some rested their rifles on windowsills and crates, all facing towards the front of the town and the church. She swallowed. They had all fallen silent.

======*======

"Where is she? Where the hell is she?"

"Drew?"

"Where the hell is Jacklyn Marston, Sheriff?"

Marshal Johnson stood up from his desk. His deputies, who had been playing cards at the corner table, followed suit, glancing between the two men.

"Marston?" asked the Marshal, "I ain't sure where she is right now, Drew. What's goin on?"

Drew MacFarlane was red-faced and kept pacing back and forth in front of Marshal Johnson's desk. "They took Bonnie!" he snarled. "She never came back last night. They found her horse this morning wandering around the pasture with no sign of her. She's gone. And that goddamn government woman had somethin to do with it. I know she did."

The Marshal looked to his deputies. "Jonah, go check the hotel. It's early yet, she might still be around if she's been stayin here. Bring her in."

"Yessir. Can I—"

"No you cannot. Don't be stupid. She'll shoot you before she lets you cuff her."

"Yessir," muttered Jonah unhappily.

"Eli, go with him."

Eli bobbed his head and followed Jonah out the door. Drew was standing in the middle of the office, looking helplessly about the place. He inhaled shakily and met the Marshal's gaze. "I can't lose another child," he whispered. "I can't. Not her."

"You haven't lost anything yet, Drew."

"I should've gone with her last night. I might've—"

"If she's been taken, there ain't nothing you could've done, Drew. You've done all you can by comin here. And you know I'll do all I can for her. And I think Marston will too."

Drew swallowed, his mouth a flat line. "I don't know what she can do. I don't know what I want her doing, after all this."

The door opened and Drew and the Marshal fell silent as Jacklyn swept in, Eli and Jonah following with Jonah's hand cradled against his chest as if nursing a broken finger. Jacklyn was pale with fury.

"She says she ain't seen Miss MacFarlane, Marshal," said Eli, glancing nervously between her, his boss, and his maimed associate.

"Not since the fire," she said, her own eyes seeking Drew's and mirroring the worry and the wrath that she beheld in them. "But Williamson has her. He has to. Stupid son of a bitch."

Drew glared balefully at her. "You're tellin me you had nothing to do with this?"

"It's my fault they took her," said Jacklyn. "I thought staying away would keep Bill away too. I was wrong. But I will do everything in my power to make this right."

"How?"

A voice from outside interrupted her reply.

"Oh, Marshal!" they called, singing out their summons. "Mister Marshal! Come out, come out!"

Marshal Johnson peered out the window. "The hell is that?"

Norman Deek, still lolling about in his cell since his capture, began to laugh. "I know that fella," he said, leering at Jacklyn from his cot. "I bet him and the rest of the boys are treatin Miss MacFarlane real nice."

"I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut," said the Marshal, gently taking Jacklyn by the shoulder and turning her towards the door when it became clear that she was moments away from entering Norman Deek's cell to enact violence upon him. "Come on, Marston. Let's go see what this joker wants."

"I can treat you nice too, Jackie!" Norman called at their backs. "Real fuckin nice."

The five of them stepped outside onto the porch. There was a man sitting his horse in the middle of the street and he grinned as his mount nervously stepped about, as if knowing that both itself and its master were malfeasants in this plot. The thug's smile widened when he caught sight of who all were present to welcome him.

"Even better," he said, tilting his hat forward. "Good mornin to you, Mr. MacFarlane."

The deputies spat off the side of the porch and the Marshal eyed the interloper with contempt. "Get down off that horse, boy, or I'll shoot."

The man was still smiling. "I wouldn't recommend that, Marshal. Not if Drew MacFarlane wants to see his Bonnie back in one piece. That's a nice girl you got there, mister."

Drew looked as though he were about ready to lose control of himself. The thug saw this and laughed. "You know, I'm thinkin about marrying her myself. Give her a baby and all that."

Jacklyn lowered her hand to her holster and the Marshal caught this and held his arm out to her, his eyes still on the thug. "What do you want?"

"That's better," he said, though his focus was on Jacklyn and Drew. "Bill wants Norman Deek. He wants him set free. Then you'll get your daughter back."

Marshal Johnson shook his head. "We don't make deals with outlaws, boy."

"Yeah you do, and don't be pretendin otherwise," he said, swinging his horse around as it danced and scraped at the ground with its hoof. "You got the meanest outlaw in the territory standin right beside you, Marshal. The whole government is a pack of outlaws themselves. This here's the land of opportunity, and Mr. MacFarlane, I'm givin you the opportunity to get your daughter back before fifteen friends of mine take out all their anger and all their loneliness on her."

They all looked at each other save Jacklyn, who was still eyeing Bill's emissary with unadulterated hatred, her fists clenched at her sides. "Where is she?"

"Tumbleweed. Bring Norman up an hour's time. And don't go gettin no funny ideas, or I will slit that whore's throat myself."

Jacklyn's hand flexed beside her pistol. The thug guffawed and shook his head. "Bill said you was soft when it came to whores, Marston."

"Not nearly as soft as your skull will be after I've emptied my gun into it."

He laughed again. "We'll see. Y'all have a pleasant mornin now. We'll be seein you soon."

With that he savagely spurred his horse and the poor beast reared and squealed and took off down the road. They watched him go.

"What do we do?" asked the Marshal.

"We do what he says. Whatever Deek's worth, it's not worth Bonnie's life."

"These boys ain't playin fair, Marston. If you really think it'll be that simple—"

She cut him off. "Even if it was, I'm not leaving Tumbleweed until every last one of them is dead. I'll see to that myself if I have to."

She turned towards Drew. He was pale and red-eyed and looked near to crying. She put a hand on his shoulder and he immediately reached up to grasp it. "I'm getting her back, Mr. MacFarlane," she told him. "I'll get her back to you if it kills me. I swear."

Drew took a shaky breath and nodded his head and when he spoke he was hoarse. "Please do," he said. "Please."

She nodded once and looked back towards the office. The deputies had tied Norman Deek's wrists and ankles and were in the process of urging him down the steps with shoves and verbal encouragement, and when he promptly toppled over into the dirt and began to curse them all Jonah hauled him up and with Eli's help placed him on the rump of his horse. Marshal Johnson stepped out after them holding a rifle in his hands and wearing a grim look.

The four of them mounted up and rode into a desert shrouded by clouds, shadowshapes out on the cholla-speckled hills. Very far to the north, beyond the mountain range, thunder echoed ominously. Marshal Johnson glanced to his right just over his shoulder and caught sight of Jacklyn's profile. Her mouth was a cruel, flat line, her eyes dark in the weak light.

"This could end bad, Marston," he began. "This could have already ended bad."

Jacklyn looked at him. "You think they already killed her?"

"They ain't got to keep her alive. Not when this is all just a means to get you out in the middle of nowhere so they can kill you too."

"You're more than welcome to turn around."

"Hell, Marston, that's not what I'm sayin."

"Then what are you sayin?"

Marshal Johnson sighed. "You just made Drew MacFarlane a lot of promises. If she's already been killed, what the hell are you going to say to him or do for him to remedy that?"

"Oh, she's alive," drawled Norman Deek from behind them, still thumping up and down over the rump of the horse he was settled on. "They're savin her for me for when I get there. I heard these farmer girls like it in the—"

"We won't have anything to trade if he keeps talkin, Marshal," said Jacklyn matter-of-factly. "One more word and I'm going to put my lasso around his head and drag him til his neck breaks."

Norman laughed. "We already filled you with lead once, you stupid bitch. I can't wait to be there when we do it again."

"Don't pay him mind, Marston," said the Marshal. "Deek here is what happens when you're mean enough to be second-in-command but too cowardly and stupid to be a leader. I doubt Bill will miss him too much when this goes ass-up."

"I don't really care which way it goes as long as I get Bonnie back," said Jacklyn. "I owe her my life. Much more than that. And if somethin else happens to her on my account..."

She did not finish her thought and it was not necessary to. The posse swung up into the hill country with the sun cold and dim on their backs and their long shadows spidery where they reached out onto the road before them. The cacti gave way to scrubby pine and jagged rock and soon they were crossing the old wooden bridge across the gorge and loping into the outskirts of the ruins.

They stopped before the church. Jacklyn eyed the town in disgust as she swung herself off her horse. "I was just here," she muttered. "And I emptied it out. How did they fill it up so quickly?"

"Tumbleweed changes hands often," said the Marshal, peering down the hill at the town, seeing nothing and no one with the leaning houses blocking most of his view. "Real popular place with the scum of the world: bandits, drug-runners, vagrants."

Jonah had pulled Norman Deek off the back of his horse and cut the rope around his ankles so that he could walk on his own. He stood there squinting out at the town and occasionally would chuckle under his breath as if at a joke only he knew the punchline to.

"How do you want to do this?" asked the Marshal.

"I'll take him into town," said Jacklyn. "Just me and him at first. If they start shootin, then I suppose you should do the same."

The Marshal nodded. Jacklyn took Norman Deek by the shoulder and shoved him up ahead of her. "And you're gonna be my shield, Norman."

He wheezed out another laugh. "My pleasure."

She pushed him again, holding her pistol between his shoulder-blades with her left hand. "Quit draggin your feet," she told him impatiently, emphasizing the command with a quick jab with the barrel of her gun.

Norman spat. "I'm sure it's been nice for the boys to have a whore to play with," he said. "Maybe she's had fun too. Maybe she won't wanna go home, she's been fucked so good."

Jacklyn automatically pressed her finger tighter against the trigger but said nothing. Three of Williamson's men emerged from behind the iron fence and made their way towards them up the road. None of them held their weapons but Bonnie was nowhere in sight. Jacklyn paused, roughly pulling Norman back by the shoulder. The men wore strange smiles.

"Where is she?"

The men laughed and kept grinning. "Who?" asked one.

Jacklyn's eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't pull that shit with me. We had a deal. Where is she?"

"We don't make deals with the law, or with a back-stabbin government bitch like you."

Norman Deek squirmed in Jacklyn's grip, the pistol still digging into his spine. "Get these damn ropes off me, boys," he said, though doubt had crept into his voice.

Jacklyn thumbed back the hammer and raised her arm and pressed the gun against Norman's head. "Either you bring Bonnie MacFarlane to me right this goddamn second, or I'm going to splatter Deek's brains all over the road."

She had hardly concluded this statement before one of the men pulled his gun, aimed, and shot Norman in the gut. He gasped and crumpled and Jacklyn shoved him away and shot the man who killed him. From behind came more gunshots and running feet and the remaining two of the welcoming party were gunned down as they turned tail. From within the ruins of Tumbleweed a woman began to scream. Jacklyn froze and stared out past the rows of buildings, poised to run.

"Bonnie!" she called, shouting above the hail of gunfire as the lawmen sprinted past her.

Her name was returned to her in a strangled yell and she took off the next moment, her weapon raised and murder in her eyes. Williamson's men had fallen back further into Tumbleweed. Chaos was soon general. There was the breaking of glass, the rustle of flames, smoke drifting across the street, the relentless boom of rifle and pistol-fire as the opposing sides traded shots. Jacklyn killed as she ran. She took cover behind a half-collapsed wall and stuck her head around the edge. The lawmen were just behind her, shooting from within what remained of the hotel. Williamson's men were as far back as the edge of the manor. Between them was Bonnie, standing on a stool, her wrists bound behind her back, her feet pressed close together so she would not slip, the rope around her neck holding her upright. There was a man crouched beside her with his weapon drawn. Her eyes were rigid with fear and looked very white against the bruised skin around them. Jacklyn inhaled.

Bonnie saw her at the same moment her handler did. The man whooped and stood and he checked one more time to make sure Jacklyn was watching when he kicked the stool out from Bonnie's feet. She dropped with a soft thud, her eyes wide and her mouth open. For a moment there was quiet, the havok of noise muted as though they were underwater. Jacklyn stood up from her crouch. There was a thug shooting at her from behind the waterwell. There was another crouched on a sunken porch. She dispatched them both automatically. She felt a weight in her right shoulder, metal on bone, but she raised her weapon and aimed at Bonnie where she hung, her breath held. Jacklyn fired.

The rope snapped and the bullet passed by and disappeared into the desert as Bonnie fell to the ground. Her handler dropped right after her, blood running from a hole in his throat. Bonnie gasped and choked, fighting to pull herself upright and onto her knees. Jacklyn seemed to just appear before her, kneeling to cut the binding around her wrists and then circling around to hold her up by the arms.

She said her name, once and then again. Her voice was jagged and sharp. Bonnie tried to lean forward into her but Jacklyn held her at arm's length. Bonnie grasped her throat and coughed and coughed. Finally, with great effort, she got out the words:

"What the hell took you so long?"

Jacklyn stared at her. Her cheeks were pale and sallow and her eyes kept moving over Bonnie's face. "I'm sorry. I got here fast as I could."

Bonnie shook her head, still working to get her air back. "You said the wrong thing. I wanted to make a joke about being all tied up."

Jacklyn did not smile. "You think this is funny?"

Bonnie shrugged. She could hear her blood in her ears, her hands were shaking. She knew that if she could not laugh then she would cry. She cleared her throat again. "It's like you once said, I have a strange sense of humor."

Jacklyn stared at her and said nothing for a moment. They could still hear the labored breathing of Bonnie's handler from somewhere beside them. The muffled groans of dying men further off. Gunshots as the lawmen put them out of their misery. Jacklyn sat there on her knees staring at Bonnie and her blackened eyes and the bruises and at the splattered blood on her clothes. She swallowed, eyeing the broken buttons of her shirt.

"Bonnie, did they..."

"No," Bonnie told her. "Nothin other than what you see."

Jacklyn clenched her jaw and shook her head. "As if this is any more acceptable."

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

"That's not going to cut it for me. This never should have happened."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," Jacklyn snapped, and Bonnie did not have the opportunity to respond to her as the Marshal met them where they knelt. Vultures were already circling. The shock of what had happened to her started to wear off and the pain of her ordeal began to make itself known. Jacklyn helped her stand up and Bonnie reached for her again but Jacklyn handed her off to the Marshal and would no longer meet her eyes. "Get her home."

Her voice sounded strained. Bonnie looked at her and her face looked wrong, none of the viciousness she had seen in her eyes had subsided and they had taken on a dangerous cast as she regarded the scene. They mounted up and Bonnie clung to the Marshal's saddle from atop his horse and looking back as they rode away and she saw Jacklyn standing over the man that hanged her. He was still alive and was laughing at Jacklyn through the hole in his throat. She shot him in the face and stared at him prone on the ground and then she shot him again and again and when she ran out of bullets she commenced to kicking him and she was still furiously pulping his head with her boot when she finally vanished from Bonnie's sight.


	12. Chapter 12

Bonnie stayed in bed for nearly three days after they got her home and had called on the doctor. Drew had insisted upon it after he had seen her, beaten and bloodied, with dark, livid bruises looped about her neck. That whole time he rarely left her side and only once did she briefly wake. A tall and vague form stood at her bedside, looming over her, and she thought she heard them speak but the voice carried muffled and distant and this image faded with the rest of her vision and she gently slipped back into her quiet rest.

On the morning of the third day she opened her eyes and kept them open. Her bedroom was dim and empty. She laid there gazing out her window at the ranch road below and she watched the wagons and horses pass her by. Her limbs felt heavy. She murmured a few words to herself and tested her voice. The door opened and her father poked his head in and saw her lying there and she sat up wincing and peered at him through sleep-heavy eyes. He smiled a little and said he would bring her tea and then he closed the door before she could say anything to him. She sat there looking about the room. She swallowed and tested each limb. When he returned he sat on the end of her bed while she drank. He had sweetened it with honey how she liked it and it felt good on her throat and when she thanked him her voice was clearer.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"A couple days. Don't talk too much. You still don't sound so good."

"I'm fine. Did I miss anything? Is the ranch alright?"

"Ranch is fine Bonnie. Just fine. Quit worryin yourself and drink your tea."

She set herself back in the pillows, holding her mug and sipping slowly, still a little too weary to argue. Drew gazed at her solemnly. Bonnie watched him. "What?" she asked.

He reached over and carefully tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "You just had us worried. So worried. I didn't even know what to do with myself. Wouldn't know what to do if—"

"Pa. I'm fine."

"If those men had... well, it doesn't matter. You know I'm not a violent man but I could've killed them with my bare hands. No doubts about it. Don't care if it would've killed me."

Whatever wrath he had borne the last few days remained but it was dulled by exhaustion and worry. A somber darkness had settled under his eyes and Bonnie doubted he had slept much at all. She shook her head at him and put her hand on top of his. "I'm glad you won't have to go on your rampage then. I'm not sure those boys could've handled it from you and Jacklyn both."

He sighed and took her hand in his palm. "When I came lookin for you that morning and couldn't find you I just felt it in my gut. Knew that something was wrong. That something like this had happened. I did think Marston had something to do with it, after all the other things that happened when she got here. But when she found out you were gone I'd never seen someone look so furious. She was the one got everyone together to go get you. I knew it couldn't have been her. Always did. I just didn't know who else to blame."

Bonnie suddenly remembered seeing blood running out of Jacklyn's coatsleeve, watching as she ran towards her, kneeling before her at the gallows, pain and fury and something else in her eyes. "She was shot in the arm, I think. Is she alright? Have you seen her?"

Drew shrugged his shoulders. "Just once. She didn't mention anything about being shot to me and she was gettin around just fine, so I guess so."

"I suppose that shouldn't surprise me."

"You were still asleep when she came by to see you."

"I think I remember it. Someone standin there at the end of the bed."

He nodded. "Might've been her. She wasn't here long. You've been in and out a lot these last few days."

They fell quiet. He took her empty mug but stayed sitting there at her feet. "I'm glad you're alright, Bonnie."

"Me too."

"Get some rest. I'll bring you some soup for lunch. I'll bet you're hungry."

"I'm not an invalid, pa. They didn't bust my legs up."

"This isn't up for discussion," he told her, taking her mug. "Stay here. Rest. I'll be back up in a bit with more tea."

He left her then. The moment he closed the door she stood up on shaky legs and made her way to the window. She sat down on the sill and peered outside. The men had cleared some of the debris around the barn in preparation to take it down. She could see Amos in the cattle pen helping one of the hands give medicine to an ornery calf. She placed her hand at her throat and gingerly touched the rough skin where the rope had rubbed it raw. She glanced towards the workmen's lodgings and the cabin by the blacksmith's and found the windows dark and the hitch empty.

 

 

"Bonnie, I wish you'd give yourself just another day to rest."

"Father, please," she said, making an effort to not be exasperated with him. "All I'm doing is goin for a little walk. It's been days and I can't stand being cooped up in this house another second. I'm goin crazy."

"You want me to come along?"

"I'll be fine," she said gently, one foot already out the door. "I'm just goin to see the horses. I'll be back in a bit."

She walked out before he could try and stop her, moving slowly as she stepped off the porch, her body still sore. Amos spotted her from down the road and he came over and dipped his head, his expression grave. "Miss."

Bonnie rolled her eyes at him. "Amos, you don't have to speak to me like I'm on my deathbed."

"Sorry, miss. You just still don't look so good."

"Well, as always, I do appreciate your honesty. How is everything? Livestock still healthy? No other issues with rustlers or bandits or the like? My father won't tell me anything."

"Everythin's just fine, miss," he assured her, falling in beside her as they walked towards the corral. "You run this place well enough that it can stand to be a few days without you."

Bonnie relaxed. "That's good to hear. And it looks like you've made some progress with the barn."

Amos nodded over at it. "We got lucky. It's been a dry month. If it'd rained like it could've it would've been hell tryin to clean all that up."

"Did my father ever go pick up those goats from Ed Critchley?"

"No, miss, he did not. Between you and me, I think he was hopin you might've forgot about them."

Bonnie made a wry face. "I've told him over and over why gettin some sheep or goats is a good idea. Relying too heavily on the cattle is going to ruin us and he knows that. Especially after what happened with the storm. He's being a stubborn fool."

"Your words, miss."

Her expression shifted again, her voice dropping slightly. "Amos, have you heard anything of Jacklyn?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and it ain't pretty."

"What's happened?"

"There's an out and out feud going on between her and Williamson's boys. His gang shot up and took over Twin Rocks a few days ago and killed all the folk there, but Marston went and killed em all back and then went and turned in their heads to the Marshal. Their whole damn heads, bagged like a bushel of apples."

Amos was getting very excited while on this subject, as men often did when talking of violence. "You know the law pays more to bring em in alive but she don't seem to care none. Rode into town draggin one of the bodies behind her horse just so any of his fellas that happened to be around could see it. That's been happenin back and forth all over the county. Them boys raise hell and then she sends them there. It's been a bloody week."

"That fool woman," Bonnie breathed. "Why would she do such a thing?"

"I won't call her a fool to her face but I can tell you she's vengeful," Amos told her. "She's gettin them back for what happened to you. Implied as much when I spoke to her a few days back. You were still out. She had murder in her eyes. I hope you ain't offended by me saying so, miss, but you've got a devil out there killin for you."

Bonnie worried her cheek with her teeth. She shook her head. "She's goin to get herself killed."

Amos shrugged and offered forth his own signature wisdom: "Well, she ain't been killed yet."

 

 

Bonnie was soon back within the house as she had promised, resting in the parlor with her hands around a coffee mug. She sat in the sunlight with her eyes closed, willing the warmth of it to expel the cold dread that sank down to the bone at hearing what Jacklyn was up to. Grim happenings, dangerous feuds, the ugliness of violence. She hated to hear of it, hated that so much blood had been spilled on her behalf. Drew sat down at the table beside her with his ledgers and notes and he would jot something down and mumble to himself and glance conspicuously between the papers and his daughter. Bonnie could feel the weight of his shifting gaze and finally could not stand it any longer and opened her eyes to him with a slight frown. "What, pa?"

He sat there for a while. He seemed to be turning words over in his head. He worked his mouth and looked at his hands and seemed to be making his mind up over something he wished to put voice to.

"Listen," he finally said. "I don't know if this is the best time to talk you about this, but we don't see each other all that often nowadays, with you always workin and me traveling about, and since you actually have to set there and listen to me I suppose this might be as good a time as any. Especially with what's been going on around here, all this madness."

"What is it?"

He cleared his throat. Still kept his eyes from hers. "Your mother would have been better at this sort of thing than I am, bless her."

"Pa, just say it."

"Well."

She gestured impatiently and he huffed and ran a hand behind his neck. "Well, I'll just put it out there then. May as well. Just go ahead and tell it how I see it. Ain't nothing else to—"

"Father."

"Alright, alright. Well, Bonnie, I've seen the way you look at her. Marston, I mean. The way you talk about her. You've never looked at anyone like that before."

Bonnie sat there waiting for him to continue but he did not. It took her a long moment to understand what his meaning was. She blinked at him, still frowning, the words working through her head. Then she understood and her heart began to race and her cheeks flushed scarlet. She opened her mouth in immediate protest. "No, pa, it isn't like—"

"Now hold on," he said. "Just listen to me a moment. I'm not tryin to push anything. It's not my place. But I know that look you get. It's the same look your mother used to give me. Like she'd scold me to death out of love if she could."

Still, Bonnie shook her head. "She's my friend, and she's important to me, but I don't think..."

She trailed off, the denial dying on her lips. She could not say it because she had realized it was not true. "I..."

Her mouth closed. She swallowed and dropped her eyes. Her mind had gone somewhere far away. Drew put his hand on her shoulder. "Look, I won't drag this out. You're tired and you need to rest. But you're also just as stubborn as me, and it took your mother speakin in very plain terms for me to realize how I felt about her. And, well, I just... I guess I never really believed that you'd find a man good enough for you. And I just want to say that it's okay if that's the way it's going to be."

Bonnie was still reeling. She placed her cup down. "What brought this on?"

Drew shrugged. "Seein her. Seein you. I'm not so pigheaded as to not pick up on the obvious. Not when it comes to you. And as for Marston, she's a good woman. She's capable and she's protective and loyal and she's crazy for you. You can see it."

Bonnie eyed him, though her thundering heart betrayed her skepticism. "Just last week you were telling me that she's nothin more than a trouble-makin mercenary."

"I was wrong and I'll admit it gladly," he said. "I've seen enough since I said those things to know it. You didn't see her the way I did when I told her I couldn't find you. You didn't see how she looked at you when she came to visit. It's as plain as the nose on your face."

"Father, it's one thing for her to help me out around here because she feels like she still owes me, but assuming she feels like that... I don't know."

"I'm not as oblivious as I seem. I see plenty. Were she a man there wouldn't be any question."

"Except she isn't."

"She's killed for you, Bonnie. Did more than even I could. You think she's out shootin thugs cause she's your friend?"

"You think I want her out there doing that? Risking her life, bein stupid? I just want her safe."

She trailed off again. Drew took her hand in his palm and held it tight. "And I just want you happy. That's all. Life ain't long enough to not do what makes you happy. You work harder than anyone I know. You deserve it. You deserve to try and not be told there's something wrong with it."

Bonnie sat there, feeling weightless and strange. There were things that made sense to her that had not before, like her yearnings, her anxiousness. She still had many questions but they were ones that only she could answer. Her father watched her patiently.

"Just think about it," he said. "Who knows, maybe when this business with Williamson is said and done there's a spot for her here at the ranch."

It was a big maybe and they both knew it. Bonnie sighed softly at him. "I don't know where this leaves me, pa, but I appreciate what you're saying, as confusing as it is. This is... I have some things I need to think about, and some things I need to talk about with someone."

"I'll bet you do, Bonnie. I'll bet you do."

  
======•======

  
An insalubrious fog hung over the port town of Thieves' Landing, the sky a colorless grey that held no light save for the glow of the marsh gasses drifting further inland like specters in the mist. Those furtive denizens crossing sodden walkways and huddling beneath the overhangs shielded their faces beneath their hats and hoods and scurried about like rats from dark corner to dark corner. Even at that early hour there were loud voices in the saloon, the shattering of glass and the wail of a woman crying. The black soil beneath Jacklyn's boots was soft and loamy as she stalked across town, her eyes burning centroids of murder, the hollows in which they were caged dark and tunneled. She had taken many lives these past few days and she took long strides as if the ghosts of those ill-omened men yet dogged her steps.

She heard Irish well before she saw him and as she walked around the side of the hotel she found him holding two itinerant nuns at gunpoint in the alley, him swaying drunkenly back and forth and waving his pistol about. His other hand was outstretched as if to receive alms and the nuns gasped and recoiled each time he reached for them. One was praying fervently and had her rosary clenched in her white-knuckled fist. Their eyes were rigid with fear.

"Put em up, sister," he told one, staggering forward a step and nearly losing his balance, his finger dangerously close to the trigger. "Let ol Irish rifle through that habit of yours right quick. I bet the Holy Father would love to share his bounty with one of his lost flock."

"Irish."

He swung his arm around, his gun aimed directly at Jacklyn's face. He looked her up and down and narrowed his reddened eyes in total bafflement, the corner of his mouth still wet with whiskey. "Who the fuck are you?"

She reached and snatched the gun from him and whipped him hard on the side of his head with the grip. He cursed her and dropped to his knees. Jacklyn looked to the nuns who were still cowering together in mute fear. She stepped to the side. "Pardon, sisters," she said to them. "I need to have a private discussion with my associate here."

"I thought they was doxies!" Irish said, still kneeling in the mud and holding his head between his hands.

The nuns looked at each other and edged past them, one of them muttering in an old tongue under her breath and crossing herself furiously as they hustled away. Jacklyn waited for them to leave and then she hauled Irish up by the collar and slammed him against the hotel, the gun pressed under his jaw.

"Try as I have to be civil with you, it seems you only understand one language: me threatenin to shoot you until you do what you're told," Jacklyn said, thumbing the hammer back on his pistol. "And I'm about fed up with threats, Irish. So now that we're here, do you recall my name?"

Irish wiggled against her hold and grinned at her, trying to pull his neck away from the barrel digging into it. "Ah, Jacklyn Marston! It's such a pleasure to see you again. How are ya?"

"Disgusted. Look at yourself. Covered in vomit and robbing nuns at gunpoint."

Irish laughed. "Aw, don't be like that. I'm a good Catholic boy. But those old crones had it comin."

Jacklyn pressed the gun a little sharper into his jaw and he winced and squirmed. "I've been informed that there isn't any ammo for my gun," she said. "I find that rather upsetting, don't you?"

Irish nodded as well as he could, the whites of his eyes bright in the shadows. "Heartbreaking, which is why I was just comin to see you, when the drink got the better of me. They got boxes of the stuff here in the warehouses and I've got a friend who can get us in. It's all settled."

Jacklyn glared at him. "For your sake, this had better not be more of your bullshit."

She dropped her arm and shoved him away from her. He staggered back, holding his neck. "Mother feckin Mary, you're a nasty-tempered woman."

"It's because I have to deal with fools like you all damn day," she said, urging him onto the road with another hard shove to his shoulder.

Irish was not convinced. "No, this is different. You're in rare form. And you look like hell, Marston. Worse than usual for sure. Havin troubles with the lassies? Or perhaps just the one lassie in particular?"

"Do you want me to shoot you in the head?"

"Oh, you don't need to play coy, Jackie. I know all about it. And I can't blame ya. There's nothing better than wakin up with your face in a pair of tits and gettin to spend the morning reacquaintin yourself with them."

"I'm starting to think a bullet might be too merciful."

"Nah, you're a big softy at heart, Jacklyn Marston," continued Irish, grinning back at her over his shoulder. "I knew it all along."

"Irish, the moment I have that ammo you become entirely expendable to me. If you want to live another day so you can drink yourself into an early grave I'm going to recommend that you find somethin else to talk to me about."

He sighed. "Fine, fine. We're almost there anyway. I'll be honest, Jackie, I figured you'd hunt me down sooner."

"I had other business to attend to."

"I've heard all about it from the fellas around here. You're a regular terror."

Jacklyn gazed at him contemptuously. "And I'll keep bein one, unless this all goes exactly the way I want it to. This friend of yours, you trust him?"

Irish nodded. "He's a hobble-tongued fella by the name of Shaky. He's a fine sort. And I'm tellin you, Jackie, it's all set up. He knows to have the gate unlocked and everything. This'll be a piece of cake."

"And you're sure it's the right ammunition?"

"Jesus, will you stop frettin? I've been doin this a long time. I know guns sideways backwards and forwards."

"You'll become real familiar with mine if things keep going as bad as they have been."

Irish gestured at one of the warehouse buildings as they approached. "It's this place right here. Come on then, smiler."

He pulled on the gate and it did not budge. He glanced at Jacklyn and grimaced and pulled again. It bounced back against the bar on the other side. He backed up and threw the gate a baleful look as though it had betrayed him. "Well, I'll be buggered."

Jacklyn stared at him. "I thought you said that he knew to have it unlocked."

"Let's see if we can get in around the back," he replied, not brave enough to look her in the eyes. "Maybe that stuttery son of a bitch meant a different gate. It's hard to understand him sometimes."

"I've just about run out of patience, Irish."

"Look, Jackie, I know things haven't always been smooth sailin, but I'm just as upset as you are. I've been seein so much of you lately that if I didn't know better I'd think you were sweet on me."

They walked around the back of the warehouse. The rear lot was a muddy tangle of reeds and broken bottles and refuse. Leaky fishing boats mired on the riverbank. A lonely vagrant huddled in the overgrowth lifted their head as they passed and stood and shuffled off into the gloom like some sort of bog spirit.

"This place is a shithole," said Jacklyn, delicately picking her way through the muck. "And I say that as someone who grew up in a shithole."

"See, it reminds me of home," Irish said. "If home took a turn for the worse. At least it's got some green though. I miss green. That feckin desert gives me snowblindness."

Rotting wooden stairs led up to what appeared to be a back office. Irish had hardly put his boot on the first step when they heard a thud and a groan from above. Jacklyn and Irish froze. He held a finger to his lips and tiptoed up the stairs to peek in through the broken window.

"Shite," he muttered. Jacklyn edged up behind him to look over his shoulder. There was a man tied to a chair inside and two thugs were taking turns delivering blows to his jaw while a third held his head.

"Those are Williamson's men," Jacklyn hissed. "How did they find out about this?"

Irish sighed. "For someone who takes all night just to say a word or two Shaky never has been able to keep his mouth shut."

"Come now, Shaky," crooned one of the thugs. "Just need to tell us who you're workin for and where we can find them."

Shaky dropped his head. He was breathing hard. The thug pulled him up by the hair. "You hear me, Shaky? You wretched son of a whore."

"F-f-f-f-fu-fuck you," Shaky spat. One of his teeth was hanging by a thread out of his mouth. "Y-y-you can s-s-s-suck my—!"

"Oh, my virgin ears," said Irish, wincing as Shaky was hit again. He looked to Jacklyn and shrugged as if the situation could not be helped. "Well, Jackie, we got our work cut out for us. How abouts you do what you do best and bust in and get poor Shaky loose."

Jacklyn glared at him. "Let me guess, you'll be out front with the wagon, conveniently missing all the action again."

Irish grinned. "See? Read me mind. This is why we make such a good team. I'll meet you around the front. And I know it isn't in your nature but try and be patient with Shaky when he's tryin to talk to you. He's a good sort."

She watched him trudge off singing low to himself and then she turned back to the window. The thugs were giving their fists a break and Shaky had blood running down his face and looked near to passing out. She stepped off the stairs and looked around the back of the warehouse. There was a small open window on the upper floor she could get in through by scaling the roof. She regarded the ladder leading up to it and sighed and muttered, with a degree of wistfulness, "one of these days I really am gonna shoot him."

======•======

The dogs announced Jacklyn's return to the ranch late in the afternoon. Her wagon came crashing in from the east, riddled with bulletholes and splashed with mud, marsh grass and reeds wrapped about the spokes and the horses wild-eyed and snorting. Bonnie had been at the corral and she watched as the wagon came to a stop in the middle of the road just before the store. Riderless horses with trailing reins and with blood splattered on their rumps followed them in and milled about the ranch and those that the hands could not catch took off bucking to the plains with their saddles on their sides, their dead masters strewn along the road behind them as though some terrible blight had swept along the county line at their passing.

The man driving the wagon handled it as though he were drunk, the reins were tangled around his hands and he leaned slightly to one side even after they had stopped moving. Jacklyn, obviously fed-up with whatever gruesome affair they had left behind, was wrathfully directing a torrent of verbal abuse at him as she stepped down off the bench.

"I've killed a lot of men for this goddamn gun, you worthless drunk," she concluded. "And now about half of New Austin wants me dead. If it doesn't work, God help you, because I'm testin the next one I find on your sorry ass."

Irish waved off the threat. "You worry too much, old girl. West Dickens and I will get it mounted up no problem and take it out to the desert for a little practice session. The coyotes could spare to be thinned out a bit, thievin little cowards that they are. I suppose this is where you and I part ways?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "I don't think so. I was expecting to see you fightin right beside me when we take Fort Mercer tomorrow morning. After all you put me through, it's high time you pulled the damn trigger for once."

Irish blinked nervously. "Er, yes. Of course. What am I thinkin?"

"That's a good question."

"Don't worry, Jackie. You can count on me. I just hope I don't steal all your glory. Wouldn't be right or proper."

With that he set the horses down the road. Bonnie glanced at the wagonbed as he passed and she saw dozens of blue ammunition boxes stacked three high, government-issue and entirely illegal for private use. Bonnie turned back to Jacklyn and saw that she had finally noticed her. She was still standing in the middle of the road, one hand tucked in her coat pocket as if she had paused while reaching for a cigarette. She looked haggard, her cheeks drawn and her eyes bloodshot. Bonnie approached her and raised a brow, her lips lifted in a small smile. Jacklyn did not smile back but her expression softened just slightly and she took a few steps forward.

"Miss MacFarlane," she said flatly, meeting her at the edge of the road. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Jacklyn," she said, squinting at her and hoping the sun could speak for the blush beginning to spread across her cheeks and chest. The revelations of yesterday had set her in a new light and to look upon her now was different than it had once been.

Jacklyn, for her part, did not seem to notice. "Is that so?" she said.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Jacklyn kept glancing at the bruises still at Bonnie's throat. They had faded some but there was no question as to what had caused them. She swallowed. "You were hanged."

"Nearly," Bonnie corrected. "I recall you shooting the rope. Quite the feat, I'd say. I've been braggin on you."

Jacklyn shook her head. "You shouldn't. I'm the reason you were on the gallows in the first place."

"That's not true and you know it," said Bonnie. "Saying otherwise is just more of your foolishness."

Jacklyn shifted on her feet but said nothing and did not look interested in arguing. Bonnie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I haven't seen you in a while. Not since you came to visit that once and I can't really remember that. Are you being careful? Are you doing alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Is that right? Cause I thought you were shot. And it looks like you just narrowly escaped some fresh degree of nonsense."

Jacklyn shook her head. "Bullet just grazed my arm. It's nearly healed up already. Nothin worth worrying about."

"Well, aren't you cavalier?"

"Wasn't the first time I've been shot. Won't be the last."

"Jacklyn."

"Ma'am?"

"I need you to quit feelin sorry for yourself and accept that I don't blame you for what happened to me. I'm alive because of you. Any debt you feel you owed me is long paid."

Jacklyn frowned. "That's not—"

Bonnie held her hand up. "This isn't an argument you can win. You can't threaten me like you threatened that man."

Jacklyn briefly closed her eyes as if the very mention of Irish dredged up some terrible fatigue in her. "I promise you he deserves every bit of it. More if I'm being honest."

"Jacklyn?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I hear you say you're taking the fort tomorrow?"

"That's the plan."

Bonnie nodded. "Alright. Are you busy right now, right this second?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "Not right this second, no. Did you need something?"

"Would you go for a quick ride with me? There's something I need to speak with you about and I'd rather have some privacy. The men here are shameless eavesdroppers."

"Is something wrong?"

"No," said Bonnie. She could hear her blood in her ears and she felt the muscles deep in her chest flutter. "There's nothin wrong at all."

 

 

They mounted up and rode into the evening, slowly walking the back-country trails side by side, the woods to the north dark and quiet. For a while they rode in silence. Now and then Bonnie would glance over at Jacklyn's profile and see that her eyes were closed and she had her face slightly tilted towards the warmth of the sky.

"You look tired," Bonnie said.

"I am tired."

"You know it's not a race to get to Williamson."

Jacklyn turned her head towards her. "As long as he's around, you're in danger. I can't abide that."

"And I can't abide you riskin your own life day after day on my behalf," Bonnie countered. "I've heard about what you've been up to and I don't care for it at all. It's reckless and stupid."

"Did you bring me out here just to scold me?"

"Only because I care," said Bonnie. "And you're supposed to be doing all this for your brother, not me."

Jacklyn was quiet a moment. She took a long breath and dropped her eyes. "Bonnie, that's just... that's just not all of it anymore," she said. "I want him let loose. You know that. But you've... you've become just as important. And where he is, at least he's safe. You aren't. Enough people have already been hurt cause of me. I can't let it keep happening to you. I can't risk it."

Jacklyn fell quiet. Bonnie rode beside her in silence for some time, ruminating over her words. They began to turn south towards the coastline canyons. The piercing drone of insects filled the space around them, golden swarms of aphids thick above the plaingrass. The snapping of branches as deer fled the failing light. Bonnie considered this admission, and considered what her father had told her. 

"Since you asked, there is a reason I wanted you to come ride with me, other than to scold you. I needed to tell you something," Bonnie said. "And I still don't really know how to say it. And I know maybe I'm being foolish, but I'd ask you to humor me for a moment if you'd be so kind."

Jacklyn regarded her with some uncertainty. "Alright."

Bonnie exhaled. She looked to Jacklyn, studied the planes of her face and the scars she had come to know well, met her gaze and saw, behind the ruthlessness and the meanness, a fierce and reckless loyalty. She saw a woman who had, for reasons that were her own, spared Bonnie the flinty, cold exterior she presented to nearly everyone else and had instead spoken of things she had never dared to before, and had treated Bonnie with a gentleness that seemed to exist solely for her. Bonnie realized, all in the span of a few moments, exactly what she wished to say.

"I miss you," Bonnie began. "All the time. Even when you're right next to me you seem far away. And I couldn't figure why it bothered me. Why I'd wake up in the morning and look out my window to see if you were home. And by God, Jacklyn, it confounded me to no end, because I'd never done that with anyone else. It didn't make any sense to me until you asked me that one day why I wasn't married. The day we broke horses. I don't really think about it, you know, not anymore. Having a husband had begun to sound like a burden and not a blessin and I was doing just fine without one. But I thought about it after you asked me. I thought about what sort of person I'd want to marry if I ever did. Then I started to have these thoughts about you. I caught myself thinkin that I wished you were a man. Then I realized that I didn't actually want that. That I... that I felt this way for you as you are. That it didn't matter."

Jacklyn stopped her horse. Bonnie pulled up beside her. "Jacklyn?"

"Felt what way?"

They were close, their knees near enough to touch. Jacklyn was completely still. Bonnie waited a long moment. Then she leaned over and very softly pressed her lips against the corner of Jacklyn's mouth, keeping her hands locked around the saddlehorn. She pulled away slightly and waited. Jacklyn made a quiet sound with her nose but did not move otherwise. Her lips were slightly parted. In the falling shadows of the evening her eyes were very dark. Bonnie took a breath, closed her eyes, and leaned in again.

Jacklyn's lips were dry and tasted faintly of tobacco and when they finally moved against Bonnie's they were cautious in their ministrations, but touch was intuitive and simple and Bonnie soon had her hand at the nape of Jacklyn's neck, fingers twisting gently through sable strands, her thumb brushing the top of her spine. Jacklyn shifted slightly, tilting her head, bettering the angle at which their mouths met, and Bonnie pressed in more firmly, their noses brushing. She inhaled softly. Jacklyn suddenly stiffened and pulled away. She released a stilted breath and dropped her eyes. Bonnie leaned back into her saddle and stared at her, her hand still raised. Jacklyn was slowing shaking her head back and forth. "This is a bad idea," she said.

"Why do you think that?"

"It just is. I don't think it's right."

Bonnie shook her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart thumping. "It felt pretty damn right to me."

"I'm not..."

"Is it because I'm a woman?"

Jacklyn shook her head and let out a humorless huff of air. "No. It's because I'm a killer."

"That's not what you are. That's what you've been forced to be."

"And before that I was a criminal. A thug. The lowest of the low," Jacklyn continued, as though Bonnie had not spoken at all. "And you're makin a mistake. A real big one."

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No. I think you don't know me as well as you think."

"I think I know you much better than you realize, Jacklyn Marston."

Jacklyn shook her head. "There's so much I never told you. Never could. The things I did, the people I did them with. It was ugly. Very ugly. By the end we were no more than common killers even with all our ideals. I've done things I'll regret til the day I die. Outright murder is the least of it."

"I don't care about any of that."

Jacklyn laughed and the sound was cold. "If you knew, you would. I guarantee it."

"You act like you know everything. You won't even give me the chance to prove you wrong."

"What do you want from me?"

Bonnie frowned. "I don't want a damn thing, and I'm insulted that you'd assume otherwise."

"Bonnie—"

"Tell me that you don't feel this too and I'll drop it. We'll never speak of it again," Bonnie said. "But I don't think you can. I think you're scared."

"It's not that simple."

"Of course it is. That's how love works."

Jacklyn glanced sharply at her. Bonnie had not meant to say anything of love but it was true. She loved her. And she did not rescind the proclamation like Jacklyn seemed to expect her to.

Jacklyn looked away, staring out over the prairie with troubled eyes. "I don't..."

"I'm not asking for anything from you," Bonnie said again, softer this time. "Not right now. You have things you need to see through first and I know that. But when it's over, I just want you to know there's a place here for you. With me, if that's what you want."

"It doesn't really matter what I want."

"I know you're not a stupid woman, Jacklyn Marston, but that's a stupid thing to say."

Jacklyn looked at her. Her eyes had changed again. Any warmth in them was gone. "I have one job here, Bonnie. It's a simple job. Shoot the men I used to call my family. The men I grew up with. Thieves, murderers, looters. Just like me. I don't get the luxury of fallin in love. I just don't. And even if I did, even if I had that, I would be the most selfish person alive if I let you do somethin so foolish as choose me."

Bonnie felt her throat go tight but she clenched her fists and bit down the hurt that welled up behind her eyes. "You don't get to decide what is or isn't good for me. You don't."

Jacklyn's gaze fell. "I just want you safe."

"I'm so sick of hearing that from you. That's not what this is even about," Bonnie snapped, anger making her voice waver. "It's because you're afraid. All day long you shoot at people and get shot at and you never blink an eye. Yet here we are and you won't even look me in the face. I never thought I'd have reason to say this but you're a coward, Jacklyn Marston."

Jacklyn was biting her cheek and her eyes were hard. She nodded curtly, still not looking at Bonnie or anywhere near her. "You're right."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"It's all. There's nothin else worth saying."

Jacklyn was staring at the ground. Bonnie kept watching her, thinking that maybe this was not true, that maybe she had more to say, but she did not, and the words Bonnie so desperately wanted to hear were not spoken, and Bonnie swallowed and took a hard breath and clucked her horse up and rode off, galloping along the trail, riding away from the horrible weight she felt in her chest and away from the tears threatening to fall. No hoofbeats followed her and she glanced once over her shoulder to see Jacklyn still staring at the ground, her hands crossed over her saddlehorn, face dark beneath the rim of her hat, and Bonnie turned away and she did not look back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now one chapter from the conclusion of Part 1. Once Part 1 has been posted in entirety I am going to wait on posting Part 2 until I have completed the RDR 2 campaign. I will be making edits to previous chapters, but the story itself will not be changing drastically. The bulk of the edits will be related to dialogue and making sure that the backstories and lore match up a little better, because the events of RDR 2 are too interesting for me to ignore. So, be aware of spoilers. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I sincerely hope you're enjoying this so far.


	13. Chapter 13

Jacklyn squatted on the ridge with her heels dug into the gravel and peered through her binoculars down the slope at the white walls of Fort Mercer. She lowered them and wiped sweat off the back of her neck, squinting into the sun rising over the canyons east, and then raised them to her eyes once more. She counted a dozen men on the walls and in the courtyard alone. She figured there were perhaps at least that many within the barracks. For the time being she was alone, save her horse grazing on the hill behind her, but she knew it was a matter of minutes before the Marshal arrived and she had already spotted the dust of West Dickens' coach a quarter mile out on the desert below. She lowered the binoculars again. The grass she knelt in rustled dryly. A hawk screamed. Her thoughts very briefly went to Bonnie and what she had said yesterday evening but she shook her head and cast them aside. She had not stayed at the ranch nor had she slept elsewhere. All night she had sat at her fire in the middle of the wilderness like some wretched exile, staring into the flames with dark eyes that reflected the light like twin mirrors. In the morning she kicked out the fire and rode west into Rio Bravo and not once had she looked back.

Hoofbeats on the switchbacks below. She stood and looked over the edge, obscured by the shadows of dark clouds looming above. Marshal Johnson and his deputies were winding their way up the face of the slope and when they reached her the Marshal nodded grimly. "Marston."

She returned the nod. "Marshal."

The sun fully broke the jagged mountain edge far to the east and rows of dusty light fell upon the scene. West Dickens had taken a more indirect route and stopped the wagon at the back of the hill, hopping down and passing around a nervous smile. He pulled out his spyglass and made a show of opening it and raising it to his eye.

"Gentlemen, madam," he said solemnly, "it is time."

West Dickens handed Jacklyn the spyglass and she looked through. Seth had made it inside and was standing on the walls, dancing and singing. Jacklyn lowered the glass and watched him with narrowed eyes. "That's our distraction?"

"Have no fear, dear girl," West Dickens said. "Seth will not fail us. But we must act with haste. Seth has managed to get himself inside, but we can't leave it too long, or they will soon realize how very curious he is, and remove him from the premises, or slit his throat and watch him bleed to death. But for a minute he will delight and amuse them. That's when he'll get us in. These fellows have likely been reveling all night, it's up to us to keep up the festivities."

"Where's Irish? He said he'd be here."

West Dickens made a gesture indicating his ignorance of Irish's whereabouts. "He told me the same. Perhaps he's still in the midst of his own bacchanal. Either way, we cannot wait for him to make his appearance, I'm afraid. It's now or never."

Jacklyn clicked the glass shut and handed it back. "If that's our plan then so be it."

"Very good. I'm glad you're on board."

West Dickens turned to address the others. "Marshals of the law, when the shooting commences, take that as your cue to start awarding each other medals."

When the two deputies answered him with nothing but blank stares he sighed and smiled patiently as if in pity of them. "What I mean, gentlemen, is to take it as your cue to get in there and clean up the mess."

"Oh!" said Jonah. "Well why the hell didn't you just say so."

"All I care about is Williamson," said Jacklyn. "Any fool that stands between him and I will take a bullet but he's the reason I'm here."

"I won't complain if we can thin out the pack a little," said the Marshal. "But I agree. I underestimated Williamson. Man is a stone-cold killer."

Jacklyn shook her head. "He's a proud fool. Question is which will win out between his pride and his instinct for survival. I'll be disappointed but not surprised if he hasn't already tucked tail and ran."

"Ah, come now, my dear. No need for such grim realism," chided West Dickens. "This is a fine day for a slaughter. Try and enjoy yourself. Go ahead and ensconce yourself in the back of the wagon, Jacklyn, and we'll make our grand entrance!"

She climbed in the back and positioned herself behind the gun while they closed the latch behind her. Immediately she was hit with the acrid odor of West Dickens' elixir and it was enough to make her eyes burn as the wagon began to clamber down the hill.

"Alright, so far so good," she heard West Dickens say from the seat. "Now just stay put until I tell you otherwise. That scoundrel Seth had better not let us down. Once we're inside and I've lulled our adversaries into a false sense of security with some beguiling sales patter, I will give you the signal."

"What's the signal?"

"The moment you hear a sharp rap on the side of the wagon, rise like the phoenix and start shooting like you've never shot before. Those walls should collapse with a gentle push. This is it, my dear. The moment of truth. Me and you. One last time into the breach! This is going to have to be the performance of my life. I hope my nerves don't get the better of me. I'll be honest with you, Jacklyn, I'm a little jittery."

When she did not answer immediately his anxiety got the better of him and fearing that she had been overwhelmed by the perfume of his creation he turned towards the back of the carriage with a panicked expression. "Jacklyn? Jacklyn?!"

"It reeks of miracles back here," came the muffled reply.

He sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow, straightening his tophat in the process. "Thank God. Now be ready with that machine gun, my dear. I'll be a sitting duck in there."

The sentries on the wall regarded the approaching wagon with dull curiosity. All night they had been drinking and there was a general good mood about the place, many men sitting or lying in the shade beneath the wall, asleep where they had fallen. Those still awake were guffawing stupidly at Seth and watched the proceedings with a glazed look in their eyes, like primitive men still amazed by fire. They opened the gates and let the wagon in without question as if they assumed the arrival of the man dressed like a carnival barker was simply predestined to be part of the day's buffoonery.

They came to a stop just within the gates, which were promptly closed and barred behind them. Nigel West Dickens lowered himself from the wagon and grinned out at the crowd, studying their ugly faces and the guns at their hips and their huge Bowie knives and their shouldered rifles. He chuckled nervously and held his hands out.

"Greetings, my good men! And thank you for being so hospitable this fine morning. Now, what would you say if I said that immortality was at hand? What would you say if I told you that I could teach you to fly? What would you say if I told you I could turn a man into a beautiful woman? Impossible? Yes, once but no more!"

While the men chuckled and muttered amongst themselves Seth had snuck behind them and unbarred the door, poking his head out and giving a toothy grin to the lawmen at the other side. Within the wagon Jacklyn sweated, one hand on the crank, the other on the lever of the gun. Her heart pounded heavily in the darkness.

"Gentlemen," continued West Dickens, "I bring you wisdom from the East. I have here in this wagon some of the finest goods, the best medicines and the newest inventions available for you and your brothers in arms! Exotic trinkets from the far reaches of the earth! Elixirs that give vigor and strength! And, for you men of physical skill and athletic physique, this miraculous elixir can keep the muscles supple and relax the chords. It loosens the joints and gives a feeling of vigor and freshness to the whole system! Why some men have reported to me that after drinking it for one month, they can chew through steel!"

As if to punctuate his point his rapped loudly on the side of the wagon. Jacklyn took a quick breath and leapt up and shoved the walls away, the entire thing unfolding like Pandora's box. Nigel West Dickens immediately took cover and the outlaws stood a moment in stunned confusion, at least until they realized what the collapse of the wagon had revealed. They howled in rage at the deception and took off, some of their slower brethren still fumbling with their weapons, but the rhythmic rattle of the Gatling gun winded up and chased them to their doom, the bullets whaanging off the stone and tearing through cloth and flesh with strange muted thuds. The lawmen had run inside and taken places along the door, shooting anything that moved. The entire courtyard was instantly a havoc of dust and blood and terrible noise and at the helm of this onslaught was Jacklyn Marston, methodically slaying bandits, cutting them down as they ran away, like buckshot through paper. Men began to pour from the walls and they were shot as they appeared but of Bill Williamson there was no trace.

Once the courtyard was cleared of life Jacklyn left the machine gun and the posse began to move through the compound, killing as they went. The methodical nature of the slaughter was a stark contrast to the panicked mayhem the bandits presented, caught unaware as they were and apparently leaderless. The entire affair was over in minutes, carried out with brutal efficiency. When all was said and done there were upwards of thirty corpses strewn throughout the fort and Jacklyn stood in the midst of it, her eyes dark and dangerous as she swept her gaze across the killing ground.

"He ain’t here," she snapped, walking from man to man and turning over their bullet-ridden bodies so she could see their faces. "That coward has gone and run away just like I fucking knew he would."

"Hold on! Hold on!" called a voice. It was Irish, running in, gun out and aimed at the sky as if he were ready to reap the glory. He looked about the fort and took in the carnage and sighed loudly, his arm dropping to his side. "And I missed it. What a shame."

Jacklyn turned on him, her fury raw. "Irish, I hope you had a drink this morning because you're about to get your ass whipped."

She was preparing to unleash a storm of invective upon him when a voice interrupted her.

"Hey, I got a live one here," called Jonah, he and Eli bringing forth a man who was groaning and holding his bloody arm against his chest, his legs dragging. Jacklyn walked over to where they dropped him in the dirt and knelt down.

"Where's Bill?" she asked.

He groaned again and winced but still he wheezed out a harsh laugh. "You ain't never gonna find him, you stupid bitch. He's long gone."

Without another word she put her knee down on his chest to hold him still and grabbed his arm and pressed her thumb into the bullethole weeping blood just below his elbow. He screamed and thrashed about but she held him there, leaning down into him with her full weight. This went on for a long while and even the lawmen shifted nervously on their feet as they watched the interrogation.

"Where's Bill?" she repeated, still digging her thumb into his arm.

"Mexico!" he screamed. "Mexico! Somesplace near Chuparosa. Please, let me go. Let me go! Get her off me!"

She released him and he collapsed into the dirt, whimpering and crying and cradling his arm to his chest. She wiped his blood off on his shirt and stood. The men were regarding her with cautious stares. She looked down at herself, splattered in blood that was not her own, the man she had just tortured writhing in agony behind her, her own blood humming in her veins, her rage hardly bound. She could kill again, easily and thoughtlessly. Instead she closed her eyes a moment and tried to breathe evenly. When she opened them again she looked to Marshal Johnson. "If Bill's in Mexico, he's goin to see Javier."

The Marshal peered at her. "Who?"

"Javier Escuella. Another one of my old friends," she said, peering sightlessly out past the walls. "This'll be interesting."

"Did he say Chupa-feckin-rosa?" Irish asked, eyes wide with excitement. "Oh, I'll take you there, Jackie. I'm real popular down there. You just meet me at the ferry. I’ve got lots of friends down south."

"Ain’t there a bridge?" she asked.

The Marshal shook his head. "There is, but you won't want to cross it. Military checkpoint will give you hell. Especially someone like you. Better if you just show up with them not knowin how you got there. No offense."

"None taken," she said, looking back to Irish. "I'll see you there tomorrow morning, then. Before sun-up."

He nodded, glancing once at the bandit still gasping on the ground, still holding his mangled arm and whimpering plaintively. "Sure, sure, anythin to keep from ending up like that fella there. I'll just get me things."

With that Irish hustled off. Marshal Johnson and Nigel West Dickens followed Jacklyn as she made her way to the gates.

"Sorry about all this, Marston," said the Marshal. "Hope you don't feel this was a waste of time. You just helped us clear out some of the most violent men in the county."

Jacklyn turned to regard the Marshal. Her gaze was weary, her mouth downturned. "Someday I might be a good enough person to appreciate it."

"Think of it this way, if he ain't here, he can't hassle the MacFarlanes. I know that was important to you. They're good folk."

Jacklyn nodded. "That they are. What do you know of Mexico?"

"Its wonderful!" crooned West Dickens. They're a sweet, peace-loving people, with a love of social justice."

The Marshal stared at him dubiously. "What sort of bull is that? They're in the middle of a damn civil war. It's ugly down there, Marston, make no mistake, but someone like you with your skills will probably make it alright if you keep your wits about you. Lots of American mercenaries crossing the border for easy money nowadays. You'll find someone willin to trade favors."

West Dickens scoffed. "That's all well and good, but don't forget to take a moment for yourself, my girl. There's all sorts of wondrous things to find beneath that brutal sun. Fame, fortune, love. Ah, just talking about it is making me want to go again myself!"

Jacklyn let out a long breath. Then she held out her hand. "You be safe, Mr. West Dickens. I won't be around to save your ass anymore."

West Dickens laughed and warmly took her hand into his own. "And may you always find coin in your pocket. It's been a pleasure spending time with you, my dear. I'll never forget it. But I'll be seeing you at the ferry when it's time for you to set sail. Someone has to give you a proper send-off!"

With that Jacklyn took her leave. The deputies had been taking turns delivering half-hearted kicks to their new captive and only stopped when the Marshal waved his hand at them. The lone survivor of the massacre did not complain as they hoisted him up, simply glad to be free from the dreadful ordeal he had endured beneath the iron grip of a woman who seemed to know nothing of mercy.

Jacklyn walked back up the hill, fetching her horse where he stood. She mounted and stared out over the desert. He tossed his head up and down and shifted side to side. She glanced down at him. "I can't think with you movin around like that," she told him.

He disregarded this statement and began to paw at the earth. She nudged him gently with her spur and then sat there. She considered the path that lay before her and the paths that forked off from it. She considered that alien land south of the river and she considered the woman who had bared her heart to her and had received less than nothing in return for her trouble.

She swallowed and looked east, hard-eyed and soft-souled, and finally she prompted her horse forward and they ambled down the slope and loped into the blasted prairie.

 

 

Evening of that day. Bonnie took dinner with her father in silence. The clatter and scrape of the silverware against porcelain was enough to set her teeth on edge and Drew watched her with concern etched clearly on his face. He finished chewing and set his fork and knife down and stared at her across the table. She tried to ignore him but could not and finally met his eyes with a long look of her own.

"What, father?"

He cleared his throat and looked down and took a sip of his coffee. "Spoke to the Marshal today when I was in town. Said Bill Williamson ran off to Mexico."

"I heard."

"Said that Marston was goin after him."

"Heard that too."

She picked her fork back up and took some of her dinner with it and sat there chewing. Drew raised a brow at her. "Bonnie."

"What?"

He kept looking. She sighed and shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it, pa. Not now. There's no point."

"Who knows when she'll end back up in the country. She might not come back. Lots of bad blood down there. Plenty of Americans end up face down in a ditch for no reason at all. It's a violent land."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Beg her to stay? Go with her? What?"

He reached across the table and took her hand. She did not pull it away. Her eyes welled up and she worked hard not to blink. He squeezed her fingers. "I'm telling you that she's leaving tomorrow morning. Taking the raft across the water. This might be the last time you ever see her. Every day I think of something I wish I'd told your mother before she passed. I don't want you ever feelin the same."

Bonnie shook her head, her jaw tight. "I did my part. It's on her now."

She gently pulled her hand away. He allowed her to and he dropped his eyes back to his meal and said nothing more of Jacklyn Marston.

 

 

A knock at the door the following morning made Bonnie jump in her seat, nearly spilling her coffee down her front as she stood from the kitchen table and rushed to the front of the house. All night she had thought of leaving, of riding down to the river, but something, perhaps stubbornness or perhaps fear, had kept her at home, and her regret weighed heavy. The shadow on the other side of the glass was short and squat. Bonnie could feel her heart drop in her chest but still she opened the door. She stood there blinking, taken aback by who stood before her.

Nigel West Dickens gave her a low bow with a flourish, removing his hat and flipping it neatly back onto his head as he straightened up to regard her. "How do you do?" he asked, gifting her his signature smile. "I'm Mr. Nigel West Dickens, proprietor of all things fantastical, impossible, and unthinkable. Are you Miss Bonnie MacFarlane?"

"That's me," she said, frowning slightly at him.

He smiled knowingly. "And you are just as lovely as she described you. You and I have a mutual friend in Jacklyn Marston."

Bonnie felt a pang of conflicting emotions at her mention but she nodded and granted him a small smile. "She's spoken well of you."

He laughed, the sound of it loud and harsh within the quiet of the morning. "Oh, you are kind to say so, even though I know it isn't true. Jacklyn is a fascinating woman, and it is her countless flaws that make her so. But her and I don't always see eye to eye, and between you and me, I've never known anyone with a nastier temper."

Bonnie's lips quirked. "Neither have I, Mr. West Dickens."

"Except perhaps that rotten horse of hers," he continued. "That is actually why I am here. Jacklyn left for Mexico this morning, as you might already know. I do assume her and Mr. Irish made it across safety, even though the last I saw them they were being shot at by bandits across the water. Oh, I'm sure they're having a fine time of it already. She revels in that sort of thing. But she had a final request for me before she disembarked. She asked that I deliver her horse to you, along with this."

He pulled an envelope from his breastpocket and held it out to her. "That dreadful beast kicked at the side of my carriage all the way over here. I should bill him for repairs."

That's when Bonnie noticed the familiar golden stallion hitched across the road, chewing mindlessly on his reins where they hung beside his neck.

"But that's what friends are for," he continued. "She and I had such grand adventures. But it's high time to start another one, isn't it? I'm off to London or Paris, or maybe Peking. I'm a traveling man, Miss MacFarlane. This country is much too small for the likes of me."

Bonnie nodded, wishing he would leave her property so that she could read the letter clutched between her fingers. "Well, Mr. West Dickens, I wish you the best of luck. And thank you for bringing this to me. I... I do appreciate it."

"You know, she mentioned you as well," he said, leaning in slightly as if in confidentiality. "Always good things. She thinks very highly of you, my dear, and she thinks highly of no one."

Bonnie smiled, feeling warmth in her chest even after having spoken to a man she was sure had no soul to speak of. She dipped her head at him. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

He bowed again. "And you, madam."

He took his leave, leaving Bonnie on her porch, staring down at the letter in her hand. She carefully lifted it open. There was a single piece of paper inside. She unfolded it, allowing the envelope to drop to the ground. The body of work was brief, the script cramped and heavily tilted to one side and somewhat messy, almost as though the writer had transcribed it while still on horseback.

 

_Bonnie,_

_As you have likely already heard, I am going across the river to find Bill in Mexico. Since I could not get him onto the raft with me without suffering grievous bodily harm, I have left my horse in your care. In spite of his horrible temperament he is the only thing of beauty I own in this world and he belongs to you now. He is a fine animal and as long as you are on his back he will never fail you._

_You are right about everything you said the last time I saw you. I'm a coward. There are words I might have liked to have said to you before I left and I cannot write them here. I do not know what awaits me in Mexico. I do not know when I will return, or if I will return. But I would at least like you to know that your kindness to me is something I can never repay. Getting shot and nearly dying on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere was the best thing to ever happen to me, and the luck I had in meeting you is something I will be grateful for until the day I die._

_I told you once that I don't really allow myself to hope. That's still the truth, especially now when it seems there is so much more to lose. But I have to make an exception, as I have when it comes to you, for good or for ill._

_I hope I see you again._

_  
J_

 

 

• _end of part 1_ •


	14. Part 2, Chapter 14

=• Part 2 •=

 

"You told me they loved you down here."

They were sitting in the sand, soaking wet, staring out onto the river, at the current, at the scrub pine swimming in the bight. The raft that had carried them there had loosed itself from the bank and was already drifting westward towards much greater waters and greater depths. Rain had pursued their travels since they had left New Austin and that too abandoned them to shroud the planet distant in a haze of grey. They watched the bodies of the men who had ambushed them float downstream, gently bobbing up and down while red clouded the water.

Irish had his head between his knees, lank hair dripping steadily into a tiny well of his own creation. He lifted his face and squinted at Jacklyn and grinned. "They do! Well, at least the lassies do. Oh, them big brown eyes. Turn stone into butter, they would. You should find yourself somethin nice and sweet to welcome you into the country proper. The Mexicans know how to make a bottle of liquor, too. That pulque! Now there's a drink that would take the frost out of frosty mornin. Ah, you're gonna have some fun."

Jacklyn looked at him dubiously. "I'm pretty sure I heard one of those fellas call you a traitor right before I shot him."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't speak Spanish, Jacklyn Marston."

Irish stood up, stretching towards a pale sun as it revealed itself behind the clouds trailing across the firmament. "Oh, I am glad to be back. This place is a wild devil's paradise. Down here they call me El Rato. The Cat. On account of me stealth and cunning."

Jacklyn raised up as well, removing her hat to chase off the water before placing it back on her head. "I'm pretty sure rato means rat."

"Again, Marston, I don't think I should take your word for it."

There were two horses belonging to the bandits standing higher up on the riverbank, grazing along the edge, ignorant of their masters' fates.

"Just seems too convenient," murmured Jacklyn as she approached one, taking up the trailing reins and lifting its head to appraise it.

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Irish said, carrying out his own judgment of quality by grabbing the testicles of the animal nearest him. He chuckled when the beast squealed and kicked at him. "And these two are fresher, and healthy!"

Jacklyn released her horse and peered over at him. "Before you degrade that poor thing any further how about you tell me where I'm headed."

"Of course of course. Let me think a moment. I was real drunk last time I was here, Jackie. You know how it is."

He paused, his chin held thoughtfully in his hand. "Ah, let's see. I met an American. Saw him shoot a man. Drank with him in the village of Chuparosa," he began, reciting as though he were a seer in a trance. "Funny guy... or was that in Canada? No. That was Canada. Guy here, not funny, but he's real nice. Failing that you could try the provincial governor. Colonel somethin or other... some Spanish name. He's based out of Escalera. I played Three Card Stud with him...or was it Four Card Monty? I forget. He was a real nice chap. Or maybe he was a real bastard."

Jacklyn stared at him. He shrugged and gestured vaguely, mounting his horse and shrugging once more, still smiling. "I was real drunk last time, Jackie. I tend to forget most of the fellas I meet."

"Believe me, Irish, I'll be adding you to my own list of people to try and forget about."

Irish laughed, regarding her with something very nearly akin to fondness. "The famed hospitality isn't what it once was, so I'm off to greener pastures. Good luck, Jackie. You're an angry and feckin mean woman, but you're not a bad one."

With that he left her. She watched him go, watched him vanish over the top of the slope and into the white brilliance of the desert above, off to run amok in a foreign land. Though she knew it unlikely she had the notion that she would probably have the grave misfortune of seeing him again someday. She turned back once more and looked across the river. Beyond the water an expanse of prairie and further inland someone she had left behind. She gazed out that way a little longer then she turned her back to it.

She mounted and rode up along the same trail Irish had taken and could still see his dust fading east of her. She sat her horse and studied the land. Sage dotted the coastline with the wilderness beyond stark and sprawling. Great pillars of sandstone stood out of the earth like monuments to gods long dead and the distant lavender mountains cut a jagged line at the horizon. The waste beyond the Rio Bravo was alien and hostile, replete with a cruel beauty.

She loped along the road headed southwest, following the trail markers as she came upon them. She passed forests of short, dead trees and sunbleached skeletons mired in the earth, the road winding through the barrens. Twisted patches of grass and wiry bushes with little white flowers. She rode on. Eventually she merged with the railroad and rode the tracks all the way to the white-walled village of Chuparosa.

There was a corral with a couple of sullen mules standing in the shadeless heat. A trio of vultures hunkered on the wall. No one at the depot. She circled the perimeter, wandering through the gates and hitching her horse in front of the bank. There was a primitive bazaar across the way, merchants sequestered with their strange wares in the shade of crudely-built stands. There were fruits and herbs an American would have never laid eyes on, wooden cages holding brightly-colored lizards, their black tongues wet with venom, crateboard boxes choked with vipers, jars of medicines and tonics. Chickens pecked at the dirt, tiny bells tied around their legs ringing faintly as they stepped about. Jacklyn slowly walked down the road, studying the town and its flat-roofed adobe structures, the archways stained red, little agave plants and scrubgrass growing through the cracks in the clay. She was not aware that she was being watched from the shadows.

There was a group of locals standing off near the goat pens beside the posada, road agents seeking sport. None of them carried firearms but all of them wielded blades of varying size. They talked in low voices amongst themselves, the slightest of the trio cleaning beneath his fingernails with his knife.

"¿Y qué pasó con el otro?"

"No interrumpas, pendejo. Lo dejé en la casa. Y les digo."

"De aquí para acá, chingan a su madre."

"¿Para qué los?"

The man holding the knife knudged the one nearest him with the hilt. "Eh, un Americano."

All three looked down the road at Jacklyn. She met their eyes, knew them for what they were, and looked away. The three of them grinned at each other and approached, spotting an easy mark.

"Hey, Americano, ¿hablas español?"

She stopped and regarded them, eyes shadowed by her hat. All three paused when they were about ten feet from her. Their expressions swiftly changed from confusion to something else. "Es una mujer," one whispered to his fellow.

Jacklyn shook her head, her expression neutral. "No, I don't. Yo habla un solo poquito español. ¿Habla inglés?"

The three laughed with each other. The man with the knife began to saunter nearer her, still picking idly at his nails. "Si, señorita. Hablo mucho inglés. Hablo 'filthy fucking bean eater.' Hablo 'dirty little Mexican.' Hablo 'thieving piece of shit.' ¿Comprende, señorita? ¿Comprende?"

He waggled his eyebrows, still smiling up at her. Her own face was still frozen as though she had been carved from stone. His grin fell slightly and he clicked his tongue admonishingly as he walked a circle around her. She turned her head and followed him, trying to keep one eye on the other two.

"You uppity American women don't want nothing to do with us. Nada. What are you doing here then?"

"Mindin my own business," she said.

They laughed again. The man circling her was edging closer, twirling the knife between his fingers. "See, but it is our business, señorita. Come to our country, our home, to what? Did you come to see me? Come to gimme something?"

"I did not. And I think it's best we part ways," she said. She could feel her patience waning, becoming overshadowed by an impetus much more dangerous for the fellows standing before her. "I'd hate to spoil a beautiful afternoon on beautiful land with any further unpleasantries. If you'll excuse me—"

She made to step around them. There was a flash of steel and the blade was raised, pointed at her throat. The man wielding it was still smiling.

"I think you're forgetting something, señorita. A little taxation. Why don't you show me what's under the hat? We can go from there."

"I think you can see just fine from where you're standing."

"How about you give me the gun too?" he said, gesturing at her pistol with the knife. "Puta like you can't do nothing with it anyway."

When she did not move his smile collapsed. The other two edged closer, hands hovering over their own blades. Standing in front of her as he was the bandit had to look up to meet her eyes and this caused his fellows some amusement.

"She's too tall for you, cabrón," one said, laughing even as he pulled a huge Bowie knife from over his shoulder.

The man turned to reprimand him, taking his eyes away from Jacklyn for a moment. It took her hardly a second to reach and rip the knife from his raised hand and plunge it into the side of his neck as he twisted away from her. He gurgled and she jerked her wrist and pulled the knife and tossed it to the side, blood spurting down his shoulder like a red shawl. He staggered forward and she shoved him to the ground. The man with the Bowie knife cried out and lunged at her and she pulled her pistol and shot him squarely between the eyes. There was a moment of stunned silence as he stood there, his eyes crossing to follow the trail of blood unfurling as it ran down the bridge of his nose and then he dropped to his knees and dropped dead. Jacklyn had already turned her gun to the the third man. He dropped his own weapon and held his hands up in front of his face and crouched down, praying frantically in his native tongue. She stared at him a long moment. Then she waved the gun and jerked her head to the side. "Get out of here."

He shifted uncertainly, his face a mask of fear.

"Ándale," she said, waving the gun again. He stood and turned and ran without another backward glance at his companions where they lay bleeding in the dust. The man whose throat had been cut released a final rattling wheeze and then he too expired. Jacklyn holstered her weapon. The street was empty. Someone began to clap from the shadows.

She turned towards the sound. There was an old man sitting in the shade of the inn. Grey and stooped. He watched her from his bench, slowly clapping and shaking his head. "Very good," he said. "Very good indeed. What a wonderful way to improve border relations. Butchering peasants. Well done, madam."

"Don't mention it," she said, eyeing him where he sat.

He glared at her. "You kill peasants, you become a peasant."

"Never aspired to be anything more."

The man shook his head. "A socialist. No wonder you left America."

She laughed coldly. "I'm many things. Most of them bad. A woman of political principles ain't one of them."

"Times like these, principals are everything. Mexico may not be for you."

"Don't worry about me."

He stood up and stepped into the light, leaning forward onto the railing. He studied her. "Oh, but I do worry. One more death would have meant little to someone like you. You wanted to shoot that last one, but you didn't. Why not? Why let him go?"

"It sure as shit wasn't for your benefit, old man."

He shook his head again. "A killer always knows another killer," he said. "You're angry, and violent, and far from home in a hostile country. You were a hair's breadth away from pulling the trigger and you didn't. I want to know why."

Jacklyn stared long at him. He stared back. She exhaled through her nose and looked down the road. "There's someone back home who would've disapproved of me shootin a man down on his knees."

He scoffed. "Wouldn't figure you for a romantic."

"You don't know a thing about me."

"Don't kid yourself. You're no different from any other outcast whose homeland finally got sick of them. What chased you here?"

She made her way closer to him, stepping over the body of one of the men she had killed moments previous. "No one. My exile is self-decreed."

The old man narrowed his eyes at her. "Bounty hunter?"

"You can say that."

"Where are you from?"

"Chicago."

He raised his brows. "Chicago? Not exactly the wild frontier. You weren't there long, I'd figure. What's your name?"

"I don't have one worth tellin."

"Tight-lipped, aren't you?"

"When I need to be."

He nodded, seeming to understand. "If you're hunting people worth hunting, you and I might have somethin to talk about, other than trading insults."

He stepped off the porch. He had perhaps once been an imposing figure, slight and narrow-shouldered but with quick eyes, eyes that had seen much the same sights as Jacklyn's own in their time. Eyes witness to death. He nodded across the way. "There's a cantina yonder. What say you?"

She followed his gaze. She shrugged.

He met her on the road. He walked with a slight limp and his hand never strayed far from the revolver at his hip. They sat in the corner, looking out across the hall and the patio beyond. A few folk glanced nervously at Jacklyn, having witnessed the events in the street earlier, but none said a word to either of them and they were served without discrimination.

"So," the old man said, sitting down heavily and pouring them pulque from a clay jar. "The man you're huntin, who is he?"

"Men. Two, at least. They're old friends of mine who took bad turns since I last saw them."

"Only a vulture feeds on their friends. What did they do to you?"

"It matters less now what they did to me and more what the men who hired me will do if I don't deliver."

The old man paused. Then he shook his head. "Let me guess, government contract."

"Nothing so official but close enough."

He sighed. "Rotten bastards. Not like it's any better with the men in power down here. If these fellas are old friends though, and the government is asking you to bag them, you must've run with them before."

"I did."

"Who led your gang?"

Jacklyn looked down at the table. She took a drink and set the glass down. "Dutch van der Linde."

He regarded her with sudden interest. "That's a well-known name. A well-hated name. And one I haven't heard in a long time."

"If I'm lucky, he's dead. But I ain't lucky."

"What were you doing before you joined up with him?"

"I was an orphan. Living on the streets."

"Then?"

She said nothing. He read her silence and the scars on her face and neck. Behind and just under her right ear was a small white letter that had been carved there with a knifetip decades before, illegible now but clearly intentional. A brand. Then he understood.

"Ah," he said, rather softly. "A true American, with true American origins."

Jacklyn shrugged. "Not so different from plenty of other women. I wasn't the only one even in our gang."

"No, but most workin girls don't become killers for hire either."

She took a drink. Then she looked at him. "What's your name, old man?"

"Landon Ricketts. It's not a name that means much anymore."

"Means somethin. You were famous when I was little."

He shook his head with a tired sadness. "Killin men is a strange kind of fame. And yours?"

"Jacklyn Marston."

"I thought so," he said. "Few of the laborers here that migrate across the border every now and then for work have mentioned a woman with your name after they get back from New Austin. Not sure if it's cause you're good at what you do or if it's cause you're a bit of a novelty."

"Likely it's both."

"You're fast, I'll give you that. Didn't catch you lowering your hand to draw. Not sure if you're as fast as me though."

"What are you doin in a place like this?" she asked. "Everyone up north thought you were dead."

"That's the point," he told her. "Got sick of it, sick of the greed, the corruption. Got sick of feeling like I was living out a life I didn't deserve. I came here to live alone, and quietly. To die quietly. Instead I found a nation just as tormented as the one I left behind, except we also got Americans on the run, mercenaries looking for easy coin, and locals hell-bent on revolution. One after the other. There's a man right now by the name of Reyes promising the peasants their freedom. Same as the last two or three that said the same thing. Then we've got the local government and Colonel Allende runnin this place like a feudal king. A truly evil individual, make no mistake."

"Is that so?

"It is. Least until someone puts a bullet in his head."

She leaned her elbows on the table. "You have any idea who I'd want to talk to regarding a couple of fugitives? Any idea where they might try and hide?"

"It depends," said Ricketts. "The more idealistic of them might try and chance it with the rebels."

"We were all idealists once, maybe. But I doubt they'd call themselves that anymore."

"Seems more likely then that they would work with the military. More money in it. And if they've got a bit of a bloodthirst, they'd find kindred spirits in Allende and his captains."

A young man ran into the cantina. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were wide. He swung his head back and forth as if searching for someone. When his eyes landed on their table he came towards them. "Señor Ricketts," he said. "Necesito tu ayuda."

Ricketts looked up. When he saw the state the man was in he frowned and waved him over. "Emilio. ¿Qué pasa?"

He sat down between them, hardly sparing a glance at Jacklyn, and began to speak to Ricketts in low and rapid Spanish. He spoke for a long time without interruption and it was only near the end of his recital that he uttered a name that Jacklyn recognized. Escuella.

"Escuella?" she asked. "Javier Escuella?"

Ricketts looked to her. "That one of the men you're after?"

"He is."

He turned back to Emilio. "¿Señor Escuella es Javier?"

"No se señor."

"He doesn't know."

"I got that. Ask him if he was about five foot eight, mustache, ponytail. Did he have a big American with him?"

"¿Emilio, estaba con Americano?"

"Yo no se."

"No."

Jacklyn exhaled. "Again, I got that."

"But they have his sister," Ricketts continued. "They've got her in a government prison. She's a fine young woman. A teacher. They've got her in some sort of holding cells in the caves out east, til they can get her to Allende. She doesn't deserve to be in there."

"You can tell him I'm sorry."

Ricketts glared at her. "When a man's family is involved, you need a little more enthusiasm than mere apologies."

She mirrored his expression right back at him. "I have enough worries, Ricketts. This man's problems pain me, but they're not quite my own."

"And what would your sweetheart across the border think about that?"

"You don't get to speak of her."

Jacklyn's voice had gone low. Even Emilio seemed to understand that the mood had become dangerous in a matter of moments for he glanced anxiously between them and his posture was rigid. Ricketts peered at her across the table. "Those who sit on the fence make a choice, in their own way. Don't you think so, Miss Marston?"

"And what about you, Landon Ricketts?" she said, leaning back in her chair as if to regard him better. "A man livin in the past. A man who ran away from home. What of your choice?"

Ricketts suddenly stood up. Emilio did as well, taking several steps back from the table. The voices around them went quiet. Jacklyn stayed sitting, watching him, daring him. Ricketts leaned over the table and locked eyes with her. "I choose to fight. I will fight for these people, or I will die trying."

"Then you know what, old man, you and I ain't so goddamn different," she said. "Cause that's why I'm here. I'm fightin for my own people. If you want to run around from tragedy to tragedy like some kind of savior to feel good about the fact that you abandoned the life you had to live out a fantasy, fine, but don't pretend you're better than me."

The cantina had fallen completely silent. Ricketts stared hard at her a long time, saying nothing, weighing her words. Then he nodded curtly and straightened up. "There's a good chance that we might find out somethin about the men you're looking for. We might help out a fine individual in the process. You're free to ride with me, if you want to chance it."

After a few moments of stillness she pushed herself up from the table. She tilted her head towards the street. "Let's get goin, then."

They mounted up. The sun was dripping down behind them, bedding into red clouds that billowed out from the edge of the world. They rode into a fire-colored desert, nighthawks chasing them along the trail.

"We're going to a place called El Matadero," Ricketts told her after a time. "The Slaughterhouse. There's an old mine around there that Allende's military use for storage and built some temporary holding cells into. Emilio said that's where they've got her."

"And you think she'll know where Javier Escuella is?"

Ricketts looked at her. "Finding him really is all you care about, ain't it."

"I'm not even after Escuella. It's the man he's got with him. I've got a lot riding on his capture."

"Enough to forsake those who need your help just as much?"

"I've been honest with you since the start about why I'm here. I'm no heroine and I won't pretend to be one. That'll just have to be good enough for you."

Ricketts shook his head. They rode on. They traveled along the edge of a canyon so deep that in the evening dark they could not see the floor. Deadly cacti fringed the outcroppings of rock and little coyotes trotted along the ridgelines and they yelped at the riders and vanished into the narrows. The canyon tapered and flattened and they rode out into an expanse dotted with plateaus like islands in an ancient and long-depleted seabed. Eventually they turned off the main trail. The flat-roofed structures of El Matadero loomed ahead. Soon they could hear the squealing of swine in the pens, great beasts that lay half-submerged in the muck that would rise up now and then grunting like oafish demons.

"Why have they imprisoned this girl?" Jacklyn asked on the approach.

"Her name is Luisa. She's working with the rebels. And she's close to Reyes personally. That's the official reason."

"And the unofficial one?"

"Colonel Allende likes keeping pretty, young women around him. Women he can break."

They jogged their horses along down the road. Workers labored in the pens, Chinese immigrants on the opposite side of the world from the forbidden cities and riverside hamlets of their birth. Some were huddled in the doorways of their lodgings, hiding in the dark and fumbling with their crude pipes. Ricketts and Jacklyn dismounted at the butcher's chopping house, the iron reek of blood heavy in the evening heat, flies snarling thick and black over slabs of pink flesh hanging from hooks in the barn.

"This right here's what's wrong with this country," Ricketts said as they made their way through the back lots and into a shallow canyon pass. "One of many things. Overseers working immigrants to death, supplying them with opium to keep them from running away. Keeps them dependent. It's a tragedy. That's why we need people like Luisa. Maybe even men like Reyes, if he's as promising as I've heard him to be. We need people willing to change things for the better."

"I appreciate the sentiment but your speechifyin is wasted on me," Jacklyn told him. "A man I respect a great deal once told me that power is like a drink and once you get a taste of it you'll always want another. Way I see it, anyone seekin power, no matter his intent, is likely a tyrant at heart."

Ricketts glanced over at her. "You're a bleak woman, Marston."

She met his gaze. "I have plenty reason to be."

They edged around the ridge and Ricketts held up his hand. Down the slope was the glow of torchlight. Two guards stood before the cave entrance. One was leaning back against the rock wall and appeared to be dozing. Jacklyn and Ricketts each shot one. The pistol shots boomed in the pass. The sleeping man never woke up. They waited several minutes for anyone within the caves to run outside but none revealed themselves.

"They're hidin. Go ahead and take point, Marston."

She nodded "Try not to shoot me in the back. I'm sure your eyesight ain't what it used to be."

He scoffed as they stepped inside. "Even blindfolded I could clear this cave."

Jacklyn shot a guard in the belly as he came around the corner. As she passed by she finished him with a bullet to the head where he lay gasping. Another came running towards the noise and both Jacklyn and Ricketts stuck rounds in him. He crumpled silently and they stepped over his corpse where it lay bleeding out into the earth.

"Not very secure for a prison," said Jacklyn.

"Allende's men have done a good job of disarming the locals," he said. "But they couldn't have prepared for us."

They came upon a fortified door at the end of the cave. No obvious way to get in from the outside. Ricketts knelt by the door and spoke into it. "Luisa, you in there? Can you hear me?"

Quiet. A low rustle of fabric. A faint voice came from the other side. "Who is it?"

"We're here to help. Get back from the door though. We might have to blow it open."

Jacklyn was standing over by several crates of explosives against the far wall. She pried one open and held up three sticks of dynamite. She sniffed at it and shook her head. "Again, too convenient."

Ricketts eyed the crates. "You have any experience with that stuff?"

"I've blown open a bank vault or two," she said. "Can't say I'm any sort of expert but I'll make it work."

"Can you get the door open without having the whole tunnel cave in on us?"

She set the dynamite down at the bottom of the door and brought forth a match. "I can. But I'd advise you go ahead and find cover. These wicks are unsettlingly short."

She bundled the dynamite and lit the wick. Immediately she took off around the corner and ducked against the wall. A massive boom shook the very bones of the earth around them and a cloud of dust rolled out of the cavern. The tunnel rumbled and groaned but did not fail, and the door lay on its side. Ricketts stood and coughed, peering through the dust. He nodded at her. "Nice work."

Luisa was huddled in the back of the cell, arms over her head. She had been badly beaten and she regarded the figures who approached her with suspicious eyes until the dust cleared enough for her to see their faces.

"Mr. Ricketts," she breathed, trying to stand with little success. He helped her lean back against the wall. She thanked him and then shifted her gaze to Jacklyn, regarding her with no small interest. "Who is this?"

"A fellow gunslinger," he told her. "Cajoled her into giving me a hand. Can you walk?"

She shook her head. "My ankle."

It was swollen and badly bruised where she held it above the floor. Ricketts looked to Jacklyn. "Can you carry her?"

Jacklyn nodded, bending down to lift her up. Luisa wrapped her arms around Jacklyn's neck and looked up at her with wide eyes. "Who are you?"

Jacklyn glanced down at her as they shuffled through the gloom, winding their way back to the mouth of the cave. "Jacklyn Marston."

"You came to join us in the revolution?"

"Well. Not quite."

Ricketts cleared his throat in front of them. "She's here to hunt down some wanted men. But her goals might align with our own, Luisa. We'll talk about that when you're safe."

They walked all the way back to El Matadero. Jacklyn helped Ricketts get Luisa on the back of his horse and then she looked up at her from the ground. "I'm lookin for a man named Javier Escuella. Your brother mentioned he might have been involved in your imprisonment. Do you know where he is?"

Luisa shook her head. "No. But I heard the guards talking about him. Them and other bad men."

Ricketts looked to Jacklyn. "A word, Marston?"

They walked some distance away. He sighed heavily and leaned into the shadows of the barn. "I'm takin her home. If there's anything I can find out about Escuella, I'll let you know. But there's things you can do in the meantime if—"

Jacklyn cut him off. "Let me make somethin clear, Ricketts, since I've obviously failed to do so already. I'm not here to help with your revolution. I'm not here to gun down soldiers and colonels. If Allende can tell me where Escuella is, then I'll go to him."

Ricketts' face clouded. "Even after what they did to Luisa?"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

He stared hard at her. He shook his head and his eyes narrowed. "You know what? Why don't you go ahead and do that? See for yourself the sort of monster these people are livin under. You do that, and you let me know when you develop some goddamn principles. I'll be waiting."

Jacklyn strode off without another word. Luisa watched her unhitch her horse and mount up, turning towards the road and the blackness of the desert. "Jacklyn Marston."

Jacklyn stopped and looked at her. "Ma'am?"

"Thank you for saving me. You're a good woman. A friend to this land."

Jacklyn chewed at the inside of her cheek a moment. She then turned and took off into the night. Luisa watched her go and she turned to Ricketts who was working his jaw as he made his way over to her.

"Will she come back?"

He did not have an answer for her. He watched her vanish into the dark, leaving no trace as if she had never been there at all.


	15. Chapter 15

It was midnight in the abyss of the desert when Jacklyn first observed the glow of a fire in the distance, little more than a mote of light wavering faintly in the long and dark miles between them. She sat her horse and studied it. The sand was blue beneath the cast of the moon and the shadowed expanse beyond the light harbored wolves that howled and muttered and held no fear of men. She watched the fire. After a time she rode on.

When she was within a quarter mile of the flames she halted once more. A smear of clouds had shrouded the night sky and beneath the firmament the world was black save for the firelight. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, familiar and unwelcome sensations settling in her gut. She rolled her shoulders, her jaw tense and her teeth on edge. The fire was on a low-hanging plateau hanging above the desert floor. A man knelt beside it. Though it was nigh on impossible for him to see her there obscured in darkness and distant as she was she felt certain that he was watching her just as she was watching him.

By the time she reached the plateau the clouds had cleared the moon and once again a pale, alien light fell upon the desert. The stranger regarded her from where he continued to kneel. There was a pack burro standing near him, just within the light of the flames. Even in this forsaken waste the man wore his fine black suit and his tophat and both were spotless as though he had simply manifested there out of nothingness.

"Welcome to the new paradise, Jacklyn," said the stranger. He tended the fire, regarded her with flat black eyes that did not reflect the light quite as they should.

She stayed in the dark, just outside of the wavering ring of light the fire cast. She felt trapped between the two and she shifted on her feet. "Tell me who you are and where I know you from."

"Around," he said. "I get around. I've heard all about you, though. You're famous. You're the woman who killed a bunch of banditos before you'd even stepped foot into the country. Violence was here long before you were but it has found in you a perfect practitioner."

He stirred the embers with a thin branch. The smoke curled. "You know, it's interesting. You kill so easily, yet you respect the vows of marriage. You rode all the way out to that swamp to tell a perfect stranger to stay faithful to his wife. That's very curious, is it not?"

Jacklyn glared at him across the fire. "I'll let the appropriate authorities judge my morality."

He regarded her with an odd patience, like a father lecturing his unruly child. "Yes you will. And they shall."

The stranger looked away from her, into the flames as if he might divine from their movements the answers he sought. "Anyway," he said offhandedly. "There's a convent down the way. Las Hermanas. The sisters there are raising money for the poor and beleaguered. Or so they say. Why don't you head over there sometime and see if you can lend them a hand? Or you could rob them yourself. The church has more money than anyone, as you well know."

"And why would I do that?"

"Why not?" he asked, the question impetuous with mock innocence. "You've murderered in cold blood. What's it to you to take a few pesos from the palm of a nun?"

Jacklyn stood there staring at him. It crossed her mind that she should shoot this man. In the evolution of that impulse it became evident to her that he likely would not bleed and if he did it would not be the same blood that flowed through her own veins.

The stranger smiled at her as though he knew her thoughts. "You have a choice, as always. I'll see you around, Jacklyn Marston."

"For your sake, I hope you don't," she said, but he had already all but dismissed her. She turned and mounted up and fled into the night. When she looked back over her shoulder he had not moved but his flat eyes followed.

 

 

All through that long night she rode, through cold plains in a strange land in near-total darkness. She could have stopped and made her own fire but she was compelled forth by a primal need to leave that man and his words and his night far behind her. Any dust she created was quickly dispersed in the immensity of that landscape and with only the thudding of the hoofbeats and the thudding of her own heart she felt very small and very alone. At first light she beheld Escalera on the hillside. Her horse was spent when they rounded up the road into the city. Rows of crumbling stone abodes squatted furtive in the predawn light where it flushed east, the governor's mansion resplendent at the peak of the overlook, ivory-walled and quiet.

It was early yet. She hitched her horse and drifted about the town, exhausted, hardly able to comprehend with her worn and weary mind what her eyes laid themselves upon. She bought herself mescal at the cantina and leaned heavily on the counter while the sun rose upon her through the bare windows. When she asked the bartender about a bed for rent he sent her out with vague directions towards a house further down the way. Through broken Spanish and hand signals she managed to procure a map and negotiate the rental of a shack with a local landlord and she staggered inside the hovel, dropped onto the ragged cot and immediately fell asleep.

It was early afternoon when she woke. The sun poured through a hole in the half-collapsed roof to rest upon her face. A couple of crows sat on the edge watching her with matte-black eyes and open beaks. She stirred and blinked at them and then stood stiffly, looking about the little room. A dusty wardrobe in the corner. A wobbly little desk by the door. Both empty. She stepped outside and studied the city. There were goats in the yard chewing on refuse. A market sat on the lower level shaded within broken walls and crude structures of wooden poles wrapped in sheets to block the sun. Some people sat in the doorways of their squalid houses staring blankly and hungrily out at nothing. Down the hill workers labored in the fields, a shadowed agony in the rows of crops as they stooped and lopped and pulled, the same motions carried out hundreds of times a day, the overseers on their mules walking the borders with long whips coiled in their hands. Children stared at her with wide eyes in hollow faces as she walked the streets. They eyed her weapons, her hat, and her boots, for many of them did not wear shoes. Down the road and in an alley by the cantina a trio of drunk soldiers were taking turns kicking a beggar and his moans and the thuds of their boots echoed dully against the stone.

Jacklyn walked up the hill, leaving her horse hitched in the yard. The terrace of the governor's mansion could just be seen above a wall lined with jacaranda and aloe. There were three men at the gate, two guards and an officer. The officer looked at her as she made her way over and murmured a few words to the guards in Spanish and walked over and met her on the approach. He wore a finely-made black and gold uniform and a ceremonial dagger hung off one hip beside his sidearm. His bearing was erect and rigid. His expression was not friendly and neither were the expressions of the guards on either side of him.

"What are you doing here, señora?" the officer asked grimly, his posture tense. "American, no? Don't you know there's a war on?"

Jacklyn paused. The guards both held rifles. There were many more soldiers moving about just inside the walls. She slightly held out her hands away from her own weapons. "My name is Jacklyn Marston. I've been sent here to find a couple of wanted men. I'd like a word with your commander regardin their whereabouts."

"A woman? Hunting fugitives?" he asked, still scowling. "And you want to talk to my boss? Because I am not good enough for you, no?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "No, sir."

The officer took another step forward. The guards advanced with him. "You think you're better than me?" asked the officer. "You come to my country, my poor little country, and you think you can just be friends with the governor?"

"I seem to have not worded my request properly," Jacklyn said, shifting on her feet, hands still raised. "I apologize. Perhaps you can help me."

"Oh, you will be sorry, amiga," he hissed, and the guards simultaneously aimed their rifles at her head. She stood very still, watching them in dead silence. The officer sneered at her, malice dark in his eyes. He raised a hand. Then his mouth lifted into a smile and he suddenly broke out in laughter and the guards began to laugh with him. They lowered their weapons and still they laughed. Jacklyn did not move. The officer grinned at her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Relax, amiga, relax! I had you, though. I had you."

Jacklyn stared at him. She had been picturing in her head an impossible scenario where she could kill all three without bringing the entire wrath of the Mexican army down upon her head. She exhaled, working to keep her expression neutral. "Sure

xy ," she said. "Somewhere between the threatenin stares and the guns pointed at my face, you had me."

He laughed again and steered her towards a table by the gates. "Welcome to Mexico! Come, come, let's drink! And then we'll talk."

They sat down across from each other. The officer leaned back in his chair. His bearing was formal but he regarded her with the ease of someone comfortable and unthreatened in his position. "My name is Capitán Vincente de Santa, and I have heard of you, Jacklyn Marston."

She sighed and regarded him. "Hard for me to get things done discreetly when everyone knows who I am and what I'm doin."

de Santa chuckled. "Such is the nature of things, no? Anything different, it is gawked at, laughed at, persecuted. I understand, my friend. I do."

A young waiter stepped from the gates and stood beside their table. His gaze fixed on the Captain. de Santa eyed him. "Tequila," he said softly, with a careful flick of his tongue at the end of the word. Jacklyn watched the exchange. The server left, tossing one last look to the Captain, who watched him go with heavy eyes. He blinked and looked back to Jacklyn. "You come to us during hard times, Jacklyn Marston. My country is in pain. The rebels have seized the people by the throat and destroy our way of life."

"That is unfortunate to hear," she said. "And it's unfortunate that I must inform you I'm not here to intervene in your country's politics. I have a simpler mission, and I'm clearly no soldier."

"And neither am I," he said. "But we are both beholden to our time. A brave man, perhaps you have heard of him, Coronel Allende. He is trying to preserve the order in our province, to keep our civilization alive. It is tough. The people are confused, and easily swayed. Sometimes in the service of what is right, you have got to do terrible things. It breaks my heart. But I am sure you can understand."

Jacklyn dipped her head. "I am also no moralist, but I'm no stranger to necessary violence either."

de Santa nodded. "You and I are not so different, my friend."

The server brought them their drinks. He lingered another moment and brushed his hip against de Santa's elbow as he passed. de Santa ignored him this time. "But I do wish I enjoyed your freedoms."

Jacklyn took her drink in hand. "I'm lookin for an outlaw named Bill Williamson. I believe he came here to seek protection from another outlaw named Javier Escuella."

"You are no moralist, yet you hunt outlaws," de Santa said with a tilt of his head. "You are a woman of strange principles."

"You don't hire a saint to catch a sinner, Captain."

de Santa nodded again. "This is true. It is as you said. Outlaws seek each other. They are hiding with the thieves and killers who pose as freedom fighters in the hills around here. They're all united under one traitor named Abraham Reyes."

Jacklyn considered that. She also considered Ricketts, and Luisa. "And you believe Reyes is harboring these men?"

"Reyes is a coward, a traitor, a liar and a sinner. A hero who has done nothing. He is the exact sort of man that criminals would seek out. I have more respect for the shit I took this morning than I do for him."

"That's a nice image."

de Santa sneered, flapping his hand dismissively. "He is from a rich family. A man born in a golden cradle, who pretends to fight for the poor. He is taking advantage of the ignorant and the weak-minded. All that bastard does is stand on a balcón giving speeches. It is easy to make promises you can never keep."

"I've known more than a few men like that."

"A woman in your line of work, I'm sure you have."

"Where can I find Reyes?"

"If I knew that, I'd be hunting him right now. But my men are trying to lure him into a trap. We were to leave tonight."

de Santa regarded her from where he sat, his expression inscrutable. He narrowed his eyes. "Possibly you could ride with us? I am sure the men you seek are with Reyes. If all goes well, I am sure the Coronel will gladly offer his assistance in their capture."

Jacklyn knew she had no choice, though it sat wrong with her that she should be working under yet another government. Still, she nodded. "Okay. If you're sure."

de Santa grinned. "My soldiers are preparing the wagons. Finish your drink and get your horse, it's a long ride to Chuparosa."

Jacklyn did as she was told and they rode out side by side. The sky behind them blushed pink and their shadows lengthened and warped on the road before them. They turned out of Escalera and made their way back east across the featureless waste.

"Who are these men you hunt?" de Santa asked. "This Billy the cowboy and his Mexican friend. How do you know them?"

"They're both men I used to ride with."

"Ride with?"

"We were in the same gang. A long time ago."

"Out of curiosity, how does a woman end up with a gang of outlaws? Is this common in America?"

"Not unheard of, but not that common, I guess. That was just my roll of the dice. Like it was with the men I rode with. Bad luck doesn't discriminate. These men I'm huntin are part of a past I cannot seem to rid myself of."

"The past is all that's real, my friend. It cannot be erased. That is the problem with the people here. They spend too much time dreaming about imaginary futures."

Jacklyn glanced over at him. "I know I can't do nothin about my past, but trying to better my future is really all I have at this point. And I plan on doing somethin about it."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, amiga. My country is full of American criminals, mostly in the service of the rebel pigs. Mexico is an easy place for those with troubled hearts to lose themselves, whether they want to or not."

"Hopefully not too easy," said Jacklyn. "I want to find them as quick as possible."

"There must be a high price on their heads."

"Very high."

"Can I ask how much?"

She shook her head. "It ain't a matter of money. I'm not being paid, I'm being compelled. And I stand to lose someone dear to me should I fail."

"Who?"

She shook her head again. "Never mind that. Someone important, I'll say that much."

de Santa looked back to the road. "I'll never understand you Americans. You wall your hearts off in stone yet you love the sight of blood."

"I didn't say any of it made sense, Captain."

"We have a system of law in Mexico, Señora Marston, and we do not tolerate people who think they can run with their own. However, if you help us, we will help you. No one hides from Coronel Allende for long. This rebellion, it is a cancer, and it is killing this country. And I intend to cut it out."

Old notions were being dredged up in her, teachings from nights spent around a fire in the woods, a man pacing back and forth before the flames, his voice as familiar to her as her own, reading to that ragged pack from texts written by men long dead. Lectures on philosophy, anarchism, existentialism, liberty. Not everyone listened, but she always had, up until the end. She looked to de Santa. "People have the right to stand up for themselves."

"The right?" he snapped. "Don't throw silly ideas at me. What do you know about the rights of the Mexican people?"

"Admittedly, very little. But people don't rebel for no reason. Not when they know it can cost them their lives."

"Their reason is that they have been lied to," hissed de Santa. "The peasants are stupid and like cattle they can be herded. It only takes a few men to move many."

"Maybe they're rebelling cause you keep callin them stupid."

de Santa eyed her. "Tell me, Jacklyn Marston, are you a revolutionary? I can tell you resent riding with me."

"I have plenty of reason to distrust men with authority, you included," she told him. "But I'm no revolutionary. Not anymore."

"Perhaps you do. A woman, and an Indio too, no? The gringos ruling your country don't give a damn about you. But if you aren't a revolutionary now, why were you then?"

"I guess I felt I could change somethin if I fought hard enough."

"Change what?"

"Things we perceived as injustices. We thought if we killed the right men broke the right laws and took enough money from those who had too much of it that we could create a better world."

"And how did that work for you?"

"How do you reckon it worked out, Captain?"

de Santa scoffed. "Revolution is always selfish. It is nothing but greed and ego. Individuals putting their own needs above those of others. It is people fighting for change, when they have no idea what change is."

"If you're a poor man who has been beaten down all his life, any change is gonna seem good. If you won't help them, they'll find someone who will."

"Señora Marston, I believe you're much more of an revolutionary than you think yourself to be, even now."

"What I am is someone who has things to do. Things other than debate with you over matters that don't concern me."

de Santa chuckled at her. "You're the one who disagreed, amiga."

They wound their way up along the ridgelines. Chuparosa loomed ahead. Already there was a military presence at the gates and at the train station. The engine sat smoking in the late afternoon heat.

"What's the plan here?" asked Jacklyn.

"We are baiting the rebels into a trap," de Santa told her, gesturing at the train. "We are going to escort that train to Casa Madrugada. Their spies in the hills are going to believe it is an army supply train, but there are no supplies on board. When they attack, we will be ready."

She nodded at the train. "Where do you want me?"

"That depends. How good of a shot are you?"

"Well, I'm not one to brag but I'm likely the best you have here."

"Ha!" he barked, pleased with her response. "You wouldn't say that unless you meant it. Get a fresh horse and get up by the engine. We'll be fighting a running engagement. I'll be on the other side. Good hunting, Jacklyn Marston. I hope your prey reveals itself."

The train bellowed and lurched forward on the tracks. They allowed it to clear the narrow pass between the city wall and the gorge beside it and then caught it up, a line of soldiers on either side of the cars led by Jacklyn and de Santa.

"They will be hiding in the rocks, cowering in the shadows like rats," de Santa called to her over the methodical clicking of the wheels on the tracks. "Be wary!"

Jacklyn slung her rifle over her shoulder and rested it behind her saddlehorn. "Don't worry about me, Captain."

They rode along the railway past the canyons and into a swath of red desert winding between the mountains. The train pounded along the valley. They watched the landscape on either side of them, rifles at the ready. For some time they seemed to be alone in that vast wilderness.

Then a single shot rolled in from far away, the whaang of the bullet carrying over the hills, and the soldier behind Jacklyn dropped dead off his horse.

"¡Los rebeldes!" shouted de Santa. "Watch the hills!"

Four of them came riding over the slopes beside the train at a dead sprint, firing upon the escort. Jacklyn turned in the saddle and pulled the butt of her rifle against her shoulder, lining up her shots as they barreled onward. The first bullet hit one of the rebels in the chest and he toppled off the side of his mount and disappeared in the dust beneath its hooves. The second struck one of their horses in the hindquarters and it bucked and threw its rider and they both tumbled into the cacti-choked gorge on the side of the tracks. The other two swung around behind the back of the train. Jacklyn spurred her horse up and crossed before the engine, leaning hard over one side of her saddle to aim behind her. A soldier had killed one of the riders but the last living rebel had shot two in retribution and was coming up behind the captain. de Santa ducked when he saw what Jacklyn was doing and she shot above him, nearly between the ears of his horse. Blood spurted from the rebel's head and he crumpled forward and off his horse's shoulder. de Santa raised up and glanced behind him and then back to Jacklyn. He was grinning wildly and laughing.

"You even ride like an Indio! But there will be more! The rebels travel in packs like the dogs they are."

She once more crossed before the engine and back onto the other side. More riders trickled in from the plains, frantic men, some of which were armed with little more than varmint rifles and ancient sidearms. They were gunned down mercilessly and soon it was only the escort on the desert, the train churning and the clatter of hooves on the cracked terra-cotta ground. They flew through a tunnel and for a moment the noise was deafening and total in the suffocating darkness of the pass. When they were back in the light they were immediately assailed by a hail of bullets.

"On the rocks!" shouted de Santa, leaning down over the neck of his horse. "Up ahead!"

Snipers on the cliffs. The escorts leaned back in their stirrups, steadying their rifles against their shoulders. The rebels took out another two soldiers but they themselves toppled off the outcroppings like diving birds as shots were traded, dropping mutely and turning about in space before they slammed limply off the surface of the rocks. de Santa whooped and his men followed suit. Dark shapes fled over the hills and were swallowed back into the void of the wastes, bullets chasing them through the dust, the sound hollow and sharp in that expanse.

The train rolled up and came to a stop before a tiny settlement in the recesses of the canyon face. A handful of buildings stood within the low walls, built of pale and sand-stained clay like those others within the rest of the region. The soldiers had already dismounted and were walking towards the cantina. Adjacent to it was a hotel with a wooden walkway on the second level. Jacklyn stood on foot in the courtyard and studied the place. Women in gauzy white dresses regarded her from the shadows. In the alley by the stables a man and woman were locked in an embrace and the man spun them around with a laugh and they vanished from sight. Jacklyn noted no lawmen, no army presence save those who had just ridden in.

de Santa came up behind her and clapped his hand on her back. "¡Todo bien, señora! I am impressed. And Coronel Allende will be pleased. Will you be returning to Escalera?"

"What is this place?" she asked him, still looking about.

"Casa Madrugada. The House of the Rising Sun. It's a whorehouse, amiga."

"I see."

de Santa shrugged. "There is nothing here for me, but they sell an excellent mescal. Let me buy you a drink, for your service to Mexico."

"There's nothing here for me either," said Jacklyn. She looked to de Santa. "I didn't see either of the men I'm lookin for attacking the train."

de Santa smiled. "Perhaps they did not show themselves this time. Perhaps they will next time. Patience, my friend. We will get them for you. You have my word."

Jacklyn regarded him with a flat gaze. "I suppose we'll find out if your word is worth anything. I'll see you in Escalera."

de Santa eyed her, mirroring her expression. "I will be riding back tonight. Come see us at the villa tomorrow morning, yes? The Coronel will want to meet you. He will want to discuss your quarry."

Jacklyn nodded and took her leave. She caught the eyes of a woman leaning against the wall outside the archway. She was young, and had once been beautiful. She curled her lips at Jacklyn, a move well-practiced, tilting her head, the bruises about her eyes and jaw vivid in the red evening gloom. Jacklyn held her gaze. She almost spoke to her. Instead she mounted her horse and turned onto the road and she did not look back.

That night she camped in the wilds between Chuparosa and Escalera. She made no fire and ate piñon nuts from a burlap pouch. All night stars fell across the firmament and burned trails in the blackness on their quests to remote corners of the universe beyond man's reckoning. In the morning she rode north to the river and drank from the same waters as her horse. She washed her clothes and then herself, laying her garments on a rock beneath the hazy predawn light to dry while old blood and dust clouded the water about her where she stood in the shallows. She sat on the bank and repaired a hole in her coat, patched a spot on her pants. She took apart her weapons and cleaned them and reassembled them after they had dried. By the time she mounted up and headed west, presentable for her meeting with the governor, the sun had just broken the horizon behind her and it followed her along the trail and the world turned from blue to white while the stars faded and then vanished in entirety.

 

 

The gates to the mansion were open to Jacklyn when she approached them later that morning and a guard was standing by to hold her horse for her. She was directed towards the terrace, the white stone railing lined with red poinsettias up the stairs. At the bottom of the steps she could hear a raised voice above indicating that someone at the top was being seriously taken to task.

"¿Eres lloròn, maricón? Me das asco. Hablas de lealtad pero eres transparente. ¿Estaras aplaudiendo cuando mi cabeza esta empalado, verdad?"

de Santa was cowering like a beaten dog, eyes locked on the floor, while Colonel Allende paced slowly around him, hands folded behind his back as he delivered a torrent of abuse upon his captain's quivering shoulders.

"No, no, no, mi Excelencia," stammered de Santa, his voice soft, the bravado of yesterday gone entirely. "Mis hombres y yo estamos trabajando noche y día por su honor."

Allende spat at him. "¿Mi honor? ¿Que eres? ¿Un muchacho? Jovencito sinverguenza."

He finally noticed Jacklyn standing off to the side, watching the scene unfold in stony silence.

"¿Que diablos es este cabróna?" he asked de Santa.

de Santa cleared his throat, shuffling back on his heels. He still would not look his Coronel in the face. "This is the woman I spoke to you of. The one who helped us slaughter the rebel dogs."

Allende regarded her with cruel eyes, a cruel mouth. He openly looked her up and down. His mustache and goatee twisted distastefully with his lips. "¿Es una bollera?"

"Posiblemente, Coronel," murmured de Santa.

Allende grunted. The hateful curl of his mouth warped into a smile. "Hola, Señora Marston. So you are a bounty hunter. I take it since you are here you have not found your prey?"

"I have not."

"Perhaps you come to hunt me, eh? Your country loves to make trouble in mine."

"Perhaps. But that's not why I'm here."

Allende chuckled coldly. "Perhaps I should tie you to a horse and let it drag you around town? Or have the dogs fight you. Or put you in the pens with the other putas. Then what do you say?"

"I'd say the same thing. I'm here to bring a man to justice. Your politics or ideas of entertainment aren't my concern."

Allende laughed. "You do not even blink while I stand here and threaten you. Perhaps I should make you captain and not this sniveling coward."

He glanced spitefully at de Santa. "¿Espero que me encontraste alguna compania mas interesante que esa bruja que me trajiste anoche?"

de Santa nodded desperately. Allende shook his head in disgust and turned back to Jacklyn. "All day I demean this fool, and he just nods and says 'si Coronel, si si si.' Patético."

He sighed and sat down. He gestured impatiently at the chair across from him. Jacklyn sat, regarding him from across the table. "Colonel, do you know anything of the whereabouts of the men I'm after?"

Allende nodded, picking with disinterest through the plate of delicacies set on the table before him. Fruits and sweetbreads that his people just down the hill had never tasted the likes of. "Escuella is from this province. His father was a borracho, a drunk who worked as a laborer on land cultivated by my uncle."

Jacklyn nodded. "Javier and I used to ride together."

"So you know him for what he is. A murderer, thief and a coward. Exiled from my country for killing one of our most esteemed colonels. All over a woman. Any man who kills another man over a woman is an idiot and a snake. You just take them when you want them, no? Escuella is one of our most-wanted fugitives. Men like him are natural allies for Reyes, if you can even call them men. My people have lived and worked here for a hundred years. We brought civilization, and these peasants, these fucking monkeys, they despise us. We brought them God, and they turned their back on him. Now I fight to help them from themselves. To save them from themselves. I see in their faces that they would kill me if they could. They see only a tyrant. That is the way it is. These people need a ruler."

"If you say so."

"It is the way of mankind. A fight between two forces. Que sera, sera. What will be, will be. But, I know one thing, Señora Marston: force must be used if you are to have your own way. This little maricón here seems to believe that you already have an understanding of that concept."

"I do what's necessary," she said. "And I acknowledge that sometimes what's necessary ain't always pretty."

"A very American way of putting it, but still a correct way," said Allende. "Now, perhaps you can do me a favor, while I track these men for you. I've no interest in letting them run about the hills doing Reyes' dirty work."

Jacklyn shook her head. "After we find them, I'll help you in any way I can."

"You are in no position to negotiate and you know it. Now, por favor, a bunch of this idiot's men are fighting at Tesoro Azul. Now, you head there and you lend your support. I could use someone who knows how to kill."

Jacklyn swallowed, gritting her teeth. She had expected this but still the heat that flashed behind her eyes was enough for Allende to notice.

"Direct that rage to the rebels, señora, else I'll have my men take you out back and shoot you like a dog. Vaya."

She took her leave before she could do something foolish. Allende gifted de Santa with another round of vicious maltreatment and sent him scurrying after her.

"Let's go, Marston," he said, a different man the moment they rode past the gates and began their journey back down the hill. "We must hurry. That pendejo Espinoza is already there."

Jacklyn looked over at him. "So that was your great leader? He certainly lives up to his reputation."

"And what would you know of leadership?"

"Only that most can't handle power."

"It is easy to criticize power when you've never had any," said de Santa. "Maybe it's because you've never been in the presence of any strong men before."

"I've been around plenty of men who believed themselves strong. They all either lost their minds, are dead, or are soon to be dead. And to treat his own men like that—"

"Coronel Allende controls any situation he is in because he knows the situation can never be allowed to control him. It is what a leader must do. And, in case you had not noticed, we are fighting a war. We're all under a lot of pressure."

"Pressure to find young girls?"

"The Coronel needs recreation like anybody else. He does not have time to court women. He's waging a war on ignorance, and is impatient for victory. He is trying to inspire wisdom in those more stupid than himself."

Jacklyn held her tongue. She was reminded of herself, of the excuses she had made for a man who did not deserve them. "If you say so, Captain."

They rode on in silence for a time. The region they travelled to the south was as bleak as the rest, bright white under the sun and dominated by cholla scrub and saguaro.

"Up ahead," de Santa said. "Tesoro Azul is a rebel stronghold. A hotbed for treasonous acts against Mexico. Today we slaughter traitors."

"When we're done here you can tell your Colonel I'm not going to keep gunnin down these poor bastards without information."

"You can tell him that yourself. See how far it gets you. He wants to help you, Señora Marston, but he cannot do that while a sickness infects the country he loves."

They rode upon the settlement, towards the sounds of gunfire. Whatever Tesoro Azul had once been it was now nothing more than a squalid ruin, a heap of collapsed walls, roofs patched with blankets and wooden poles, rotting livestock in the naked yards. At the gate they were greeted by another officer, a short but powerfully built man who wore an eyepatch and the good eye that beheld them brimmed with the viciousness of a man well-accustomed to the administration of death. He glanced with quick interest at Jacklyn but swiftly directed his attention and ire towards de Santa.

"¡de Santa! ¿Por que tardaste tanto?"

"¿Y a ti que te importa?" barked de Santa. He jerked his chin towards Jacklyn. "This is the mercenary I spoke of."

The man nodded curtly at her. "Capitán Espinoza. I hope you fight better than this little wimp. Come, let's have some fun."

Without another word he turned his back to them and advanced into the town. The rebels were holed up in the wretched houses, firing at them from the windows, from the doorways, but they were unable to counter the offensive push by Espinoza and Jacklyn and soon the moans of the dying replaced the gunshots. Men who tried to flee were shot in the back.

The soldiers methodically moved through town finishing off those who yet lived. Espinoza was walking back down the street holding a young woman by the arm and dragging her forward. She was crying, trying to fight him off. He only yanked harder.

"The little whores are hiding in that house back there," he called. "Remember, nobody tastes them before Allende!"

Jacklyn turned to de Santa, her anger flaring quick and hot. "We did all this just to get women for Allende?"

"No, that's just a bonus. This village was riddled with rebels. You saw that yourself. Make sure they don't have a home to come back to. There are fire bottles over there."

"And what makes you think I would do that?"

"You know you don't have a choice," he said, his voice lower. He shook his head pityingly. "You want to find Javier Escuella, yes? Then this shithole must burn."

What she wanted was to shoot him. What she did instead was pick up two bottles and light them and toss them into someone's home. She did that until the entire place was aflame. She watched a child's doll, ragged and crude, burn away where it had been abandoned on a windowsill. She watched the flames rise and she listened to the low and hushed whimpers of the women as they were led away for the long trek back to the manor in Escalera. She swallowed, feeling sick.

"Isn't that beautiful?"

de Santa had walked up beside her. He watched the black smoke rise heavenward with a small, placid smile on his face.

Jacklyn shook her head. "Your Colonel's right. You really are pathetic."

But de Santa just laughed. "Come back to Escalera when you're done here. There is much more to be done."

"Have you forgotten that I don't work for you? The only reason I'm here is because you and your boss keep tellin me that you know where Escuella is. It's about time I start gettin answers."

de Santa clapped her warmly on the shoulder. "You need to relax. Come by the villa, sample some of the girls before they spoil."

She swung her eyes towards him. He continued to smile. "Embrace it, Señora Marston. I thought you told me you weren't a moralist."

"There's a difference between that and bein a monster."

"Is there?"

He did not wait for her to answer. He left her standing there in the noon heat, staring grimly at the destruction she had wrought, the rising smoke very dark against the pale sky.


	16. Chapter 16

It was late that evening by the time Jacklyn rode back into Escalera. Shouts carried down the hill, the glow of lamps moving about in the dark. A wagon bearing ammunition crates barreled around her as she rode towards the gate. Captain de Santa was barking orders to his men and they rushed about in a clockwork madness while Jacklyn sat her horse and watched. de Santa finally noticed her there and made his way over with a heavy scowl.

"Marston! We have been betrayed. Ride with us!"

Her eyes were dark and he could not see the way her face darkened with them as he made his demand. "Is Escuella there?"

"Perhaps he is. You want to let him slip through your fingers?"

"Where are we goin?"

"Torquemada. On the other side of the province. It's a two day ride. We will rest at Casa Madrugada and ride the rest of the way in the morning."

"And what are we doing there?"

"What we've been doing the whole time, slaughtering rebels," he said. "They've taken over our fort and killed the soldiers we had stationed there. Now they are preparing to move more men in and threaten our position in the region. We cannot allow them to establish a stronghold. Coronel Allende has given me urgent orders."

"If Escuella ain't there, or if I'm not any closer to finding Escuella when we're done, you and I might be havin a rather unpleasant discussion regarding our agreement. You understand me?"

He laughed off the threat and signaled to a soldier to bring him his horse. "Come, come. We must ride. You can tell me all about how you want to kill me on the way."

They rode out, an envoy of ten soldiers with them in addition to a munitions wagon. Riding east along the scrub plains stark and white beneath the starlight de Santa kept glancing over at Jacklyn. Lightning flared mutely far to the north, far across the river, blue flashes piercing the hazy void. She watched.

"You have someone waiting for you at home, eh?" asked de Santa.

She turned her eyes to him and then back to the road. "That's none of your business."

"Love is a beautiful thing, is it not? Love of country, love of God, love of man, love of woman—"

"Let me make somethin clear," she interrupted. "You and I are not the same."

"We are much more alike than you want to admit, Señora Marston. Our preferences of the heart are the least of our similarities. You're just as ruthless as I am. I see you as an unknown, and as a threat, just as you see me."

"While I'm relieved that your hatred of me is finally out in the open, the only thing I see you as is an annoyance. An obstacle between me and the reason I'm here."

"See? Like I said. Not so different. But I do not hate you, señora. I just don't trust you."

"I've killed dozens of poor and desperate people for you and as it stands I've done it for nothin in return. You have no reason not to trust me. I have every reason not to trust you."

"Yet here you are. You are a mercinaria, a gun for hire, loyal only to yourself. It is as you said when we met, one doesn't hire a saint to catch a sinner. But you are right. You have been very good to Mexico. And you will be rewarded for your service."

Jacklyn threw him a withering glance. "With what? A bullet to the head?"

He laughed, and did not answer.

 

 

It was after midnight when they reached Casa Madrugada. The soldiers went off for drink and sport, the prostitutes crooning at them from the shadows of the windows like souls in want. Captain Espinoza was already there with his own company of men and Jacklyn left him and de Santa arguing in the courtyard and made her way to the cantina. It had been many hours since she had last slept and as she drank her mood grew foul. Some of the men were playing poker at a table behind her where she stood at the bar and one invited her to join. She refused, knowing her ill fortune was sure to carry over to cards, and instead walked out into the chill night air.

In the courtyard she could hear everything. The wind as it howled across lands distant, the cries of wolves, rolling thunder to the north, polyphonic turmoil, all of it together an oppressive ambience that made her ears pop. In the rooms above her she could hear people moaning, people gasping. She closed her eyes and stood still, trying to clear her head. She could not find the quiet. Her thoughts began to drift darkly. She heard a new sound. A dull thud. Then another. A cry of pain. She opened her eyes and looked around. It was coming from behind the rooms, from the back lots. Another thud. She walked around the side of the hotel. There was a woman lying on her back in the dirt, holding her hands in front of her face. The man beating her had one hand pressed down on her throat and the other was trying to push her arms away so that he could hit her about the head.

"Maldita puta estúpida," he snarled, grabbing at her mouth. She kicked out as if to escape but not once did she try to hit him herself. The man did not notice the darker shadow that fell upon him, and he did not turn his head when the cold end of a barrel pressed against his temple.

"¿Que mierda?" he said. The woman beneath him froze.

"Get up," said Jacklyn.

The man looked up at her and immediately began to laugh. "Another stupid whore, eh? I should teach you some respect."

"And I should put another hole in your head," she said, thumbing back the hammer.

He stared at her. He gave the woman one last squeeze around the neck and stood up. His eyes were on Jacklyn, not her gun. "You new around here, American? This is how you treat putas who don't earn you the pesos they're supposed to."

"Lo siento, Mario," whispered the woman, scrambling to stand, very small beside them.

"Silencio," he hissed, raising his hand again.

Jacklyn cleared her throat and jabbed him in the side of his skull with the barrel. Her stomach roiled and her finger twitched against the trigger. "You go ahead and tell me why I shouldn't put you out of your misery."

Mario sneered. "She's my property. I treat my property as I please."

"Señora, por favor," whimpered the woman, grabbing Jacklyn's arm. She flinched away when Jacklyn looked at her. It was the same woman that she had seen outside the courtyard the first time she had come to this place, now with freshly bloomed bruises and with blood smeared across her lip. "Don't shoot. Please. I will leave, just don't kill him."

"And where will you go?" laughed Mario. "No one wants a whore like you."

"I'm going to put bullets in both your knees and leave you a cripple if you don't shut up," Jacklyn snapped. Her voice was strained and it cost her the entirety of her already frayed willpower to not empty her gun into him. The woman was still holding her arm.

"I can go to the convent," she whispered. "Las Hermanas. They will help me."

Jacklyn recognized the name and looked at her. "Is that where you want to go?"

"It's the only place I can," she said.

Jacklyn nodded. "I'll take you. You know the way?"

The woman paused a moment, shifting her eyes between Jacklyn and Mario. Then she nodded. "Yes."

"This is theft, American," said Mario. "You take the whore, you pay me for her first."

Jacklyn rifled through her satchel and pulled out two hundred dollars in American currency. It was nearly all the money she carried on her person. She tossed it on the ground between them. "I find out you've been mistreating more women and I'll come back for more than just my money."

Jacklyn turned to leave him and after a moment the woman followed. They walked back the front where Jacklyn's horse was hitched. Jacklyn did not say another word nor did she look over her shoulder at her ward. She mounted and lifted the woman up behind her and they rode into the eerie quiet of the desert, riding the winding canyon trail. The woman clung to her from behind, her face a pale mask of fear.  
  
"My name is Eva," she said suddenly, her mouth close to Jacklyn's ear. "Who are you?"

"Jacklyn."

"Jacklyn. Thank you for coming when you did. Mario can... he can be like that when he's lost his temper."

Jacklyn did not handle that excuse well and she shook her head, biting down a crueler reply than what was offered. "That wasn't the first time he's done that to you. It won't be the last if you go back. It'll just keep getting worse and worse until he ends up killin you."

Eva went quiet after that. The moon began to drop as they loped along the trail. Wind sang strangely through the canyon narrows. They rode about an hour in silence before the square walls of Las Hermanas loomed ahead, a faintly lit beacon in a sea of darkness. They dismounted at the doors and were greeted by an ancient nun bearing a lamp. The Mother Superior was small and swaddled in her dark vestments. Shadows fell dark in the countless seams of her face but her eyes were kind. Her and Eva spoke in Spanish in low tones and then the nun looked to Jacklyn. "She can stay. There is a place for all of God's lost. You did a good thing in bringing her here."

"I hope so."

Eva glanced at her, eyes shifting nervously in the lamplight. "They are going to get a bed ready for me. Would you stay? Until they are done?"

Jacklyn nodded. The nun ushered them both inside and then left them alone. They stood in the desolate courtyard, blinking in the gloom. After a time Eva began to walk towards the altar at the other side. Jacklyn followed. They sat on a bench to the right of the aisle, eyeing the great wooden Christ on his crucifix where he gazed down at them in loving despair. Eva bowed her head, hands clutched around her knees, and began to pray. Jacklyn sat there in silence until she was finished. She felt like an intruder in a place not meant for her.

"I wonder if I am meant for this life," murmured Eva. "If I am meant for a holy life."

"If you ever doubt it, " said Jacklyn, "just remember what you left behind."

"I loved him. I still do."

"I know."

"Why did you help me?"

Jacklyn looked at her. She pushed her hair behind her ear and showed her the scar. "I used to have my own Mario."

Eva's blinked at her in the dark, her eyes wide. "How did you get away?"

"I didn't really have a choice. I killed someone. A man found me and took me with him. If I had stayed they would have hanged me."

"This man saved you?"

"He did. I rode with him for years. Then that went bad too. I've been on my own a while."

Eva looked down at her hands. "How old were you?"

"Seventeen."

"When you started?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "When I left."

"But you are here now. And you are dangerous. Mario was afraid of you, I could see it. I have never felt like that. I never felt like there was anything else I could do, not until tonight."

Jacklyn leaned back into the bench. Her very bones felt heavy. She knew exactly the feeling that Eva described and she felt the opposite of dangerous or frightening. "I wish I'd just shot him."

"It is good you did not," Eva said. "There are women there who would starve without him. Or they would end up with men who treat them even worse."

"Well then, we'll count ourselves blessed that such an angel still walks among us," Jacklyn replied bitterly.

Eva was quiet a moment. She stared at the altar, at the glossy eyes of Christ where they shone faintly in the flickering light. "Do you believe in God?"

"I didn't used to. I'm still not so sure. But I don't think I believe in him the same way you do."

"What do you mean?"

Jacklyn considered her words. Realized that what she was about to say made her sound wrong in the head. She decided to say it anyway.

"I'm fairly certain that I've met the devil on my travels. Or something like him. Twice now, crazy as that sounds. Don't ask me how I know, I guess I just figure he can't be anything else. Way I see it, if he's real, God must be too.”

Strange words within this holy shelter. Eva glanced at her uneasily. Jacklyn noticed and shrugged at herself. "I'm no authority on God or faith or any of that though. I'm half-crazy myself. Don't take me too seriously."

An orb of light appeared in the dark, bobbing steadily up and down. It was a lamp held by another old nun who nodded at Eva and gestured her towards her with wrinkled hands and a little smile. "Ven conmigo."

They stood from the bench. Eva looked to Jacklyn. Her eyes were wide, bright in the dark. "What if he comes here? And what if I cannot do this? I do not know if—"

"Listen," said Jacklyn. "I don't know a thing about bein a nun, but this could be a good life. A safe life. No more bruises or broken bones. You have to stay here, you understand me? And if you don't want to stay here then fine, but don't go anywhere he tries to take you. Men like him don't change. Not now not ever."

Eva took a deep breath. "I..."

She paused. She bowed her head a moment and then met Jacklyn's eyes once more. "Thank you."

She turned to the nun and slowly made her way towards her. The nun held her hand out and grasped it and gently scolded Eva in Spanish as they walked down the hall and finally vanished from sight. Jacklyn stood there a moment longer, watching the empty space where Eva had been. She glanced back at the altar. She thought perhaps it would be right to say something but there was nothing for her to say so she turned and left the courtyard.

The Mother Superior still stood outside. The faintest hint of the sun over the mountains to the east was just beginning to blue the sky where there had been nothing but blackness. She turned to Jacklyn as she walked by. "Espera."

Jacklyn stopped. The old nun tilted her head at her. "I know you don't believe in God. Not perhaps like we do here. But I wish for you to have this."

She held out her withered hand. Grasped in her palm was a rosary.

"It is a little lucky, yes?" said the nun with a wink. "Sometimes bullets just won't hit."

Jacklyn's brow furrowed. "I don't know if I'm the right person to be handin holy artifacts to, sister."

"That is precisely why you are the right person, Jacklyn Marston."

"How did you—"

The nun held a finger up to her lips. She still held out the rosary. "It's for you," she told her.

Jacklyn took it gingerly. The nun made a motion indicating she should pull it over her head. Jacklyn removed her hat and did as she was told, tucking it under her shirtcollar. It felt heavy where it pressed against the bones of her chest. The nun smiled. "I will pray for you."

Jacklyn nodded her head, unsure what else to say, and placed her hat back upon it, and mounted and rode forward into the slowly-spreading light.

 

 

"There you are," called de Santa, walking towards where Jacklyn sat her horse, watching the activity. The sun was well up and the soldiers moved about the courtyard loading wagons and preparing weapons. "Espinoza has already left. We must get there and lead the charge before he does something stupid."

She gestured impatiently at him, exhaustion wearing her temper thinner yet. "I'm on my damn horse, de Santa. You get on yours and let's get this over with."

He grinned and clapped his hands. "You're eager! Bueno. I'll be right there."

He mounted up and they led the envoy of wagons into the desert. Scarlet light rose into their faces. de Santa studied Jacklyn from across the trail with narrowed eyes. "You look like shit, Marston. Did you not sleep well?"

"I had somethin to do."

He laughed. "Yes, I saw you ride out with the girl. Have a good evening?"

She shook her head. "Wasn't like that. I was tryin to help her out."

"You are wasting your time. Girls like that don't change."

"You don't know nothing."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Every whore I've known lived and died as one."

"And what will you die as if I put a bullet in your gut and leave you to bleed out on the side of the road?"

He looked over at her. He was smiling. "Sore subject? My apologies."

They rode on in silence. Great columns of sandstone stood in the sun-blighted region of Diez Coronas like monuments and a herd of pale horses swept about the scrublands ghostlike in the early haze. The mountains loomed ahead, nearly surrounding them on three sides. It was not long before they could hear the rhythmic boom of rifle-fire. Espinoza and his men were hunkered down in a hastily built blockade about a quarter-mile from the canyons in the long shadow of the ridge. Rebel sharpshooters were lined up along the rocks. Jacklyn and de Santa and the envoy dismounted well out of range of their rifles and Espinoza waved them over impatiently.

"¿Y donde carajo esta los otros que necesitamos?" he snapped. "Nos van a masacrar con estos pocos."

"Ten cuidado con ese tono de voz," warned de Santa. He looked to Jacklyn. "Ignore this stupid ape. We have work to do."

"Unless you want a bullet between your eyes you should shut up and listen," said Espinoza. "They have rebels up in the rocks. We can't get close while they're up there and none of these assholes can shoot them off. Marston. Take this."

He held out a long-barreled rifle. She took it and eyed the scope.

"Pick off what you can. I will assist from the other side of the blockade. ¡Vamos!"

She chose a spot beside the blockade, a flat boulder serving as an adequate rest for the rifle. She settled down into position and leaned her cheek against the stock of the rifle, taking aim. The rebels were taking shots but none of their bullets menaced her at that distance and she ignored them and eyed down the scope. The magnified head of her first target came into view. He was young, likely no older than sixteen. The rifle he clutched in his own hands was ancient. He was watching her with nervous eyes. She inhaled, pressed her finger against the trigger, and fired.

The rifle slightly bucked off up the rest and it took her a moment to bring the scope back into view. The bullet traveled faster than the sound of it and she watched the back of the boy's skull explode on the cliff-face behind him and the whaang of the round boomed out onto the pan. Someone else on the rocks cried out as his body dropped out of sight. She lined up her next shot. An old man. He was looking down the ridge to where the boy had been crouched moments earlier and when she shot him he crumpled silently and instantly like a marionette with cut strings. Down the line she went. Through the scope she could study their faces moments before she killed them. Their eyes were wide with terror, their faces stricken as understanding dawned upon them. She shot them methodically, one after the other even as they began to flee the rocks, and they broke like glass bottles lined up along a fence as they fell, shards of blood gleaming beneath the sunlight.

Espinoza laughed gleefully as he watched the last one drop off the cliff. "See that!" he called out. "That is shooting! ¡Ven conmigo! To Torquemada!"

The soldiers charged up the hill. The last of the rebels had taken shelter in the fort ruin but with their numbers halved it was an outright massacre as the soldiers swept through the place. Those that surrendered were either lined against the walls and executed or were shot in the head where they knelt or were simply thrown screaming off the edge of the promontory. Of Javier Escuella or Bill Williamson there was no trace.

"¡La victoria es nuestra, soldados! ¡Ustedes son todos héroes!" shouted Espinoza. He saw Jacklyn standing there near the crumbling fort wall, still holding the rifle, and he walked over and clapped her on the back. "Vicious! You are like a machine. Keep the gun. Kill more rebels with it for me, eh?"

She roughly shrugged his hand off her shoulder. He laughed at her and left her there, making his way back into the fort to celebrate with the others. de Santa soon found his own way over to her. He was grinning and held a burgundy bottle in his palm. When he smiled he revealed dark red rows between his teeth.

"Amiga," he said warmly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "a killer like you deserves fine women and wine. The best pleasures my country can give."

"What I deserve is what I was promised," she informed him, her voice cold. "I'm not going to keep riding with you unless I get somethin in return. You understand me?"

He laughed in her face. "What? You think you'll have better luck with the rebel pigs? Come now. Go get drunk. Enjoy life. We will have your men for you the next time we meet."

With that he left her. He sang on his way into the fort, old words, old meanings. Jacklyn looked about at the devastation she had delivered upon the rebels, all for naught. Splayed bodies bleeding into the sand, some young, some old, all of them ragged and thin. Broken forms at the bottom of the canyon and blood on the dirt. Disgust welled up in her. She turned on her heel and made her way back down the ridge. The sun had risen over the top of the cliffs and illuminated the world below and it was both resplendent with beauty and ugly with those men and women of war who walked it. Predators more dangerous than any wolf or panther or snake. Jacklyn watched the shadows drop, watched the dusty vista glow, the taste in her mouth bitter. Her eyes took in the stones, the dead trees, the bullet casings, the blood, and she closed them a moment and her thoughts drifted with regret to Bonnie MacFarlane, impossible thoughts that had no place in a land like this.

"You'd hate me for doin it like this," she murmured quietly. Then she thought of someone else. A man dead many years now. A man who had died better than he had lived but had died good nonetheless. "You'd hate it just as much, Arthur," she said. "Maybe more."

She opened her eyes again and stared sullenly out beyond the desert and beyond the outline of the mountain range. Dark and hopeless musings threatened to overtake her and she shook her head at herself and whistled for her horse and sought to leave that heat-blasted waste and its dead behind her.


	17. Chapter 17

Jacklyn was no more than ten miles out of the ruins of Torquemada when she heard a heavy metallic ring and a clank and her horse groaned and stumbled beneath her, nearly falling to the ground with her on his back. When he recovered his footing there was something wrong with his gait. She pulled him to a halt and looked down over his left shoulder. He was holding his leg up off the ground. A piece of his hoof stuck out from the rest and it was jagged like it had been torn. The horseshoe was gone. She cursed and dismounted and picked up his hoof and appraised the damage. A long crack extended nearly halfway up the hoof wall and the nails had been puiled loose. The frog was split and bleeding. The thrown shoe was back further on the trail and not far in front of it Jacklyn spotted the low rock that they had run over, it loosed from its sandy bed and upturned just off the road. Her horse stood quivering. She led him forward a few steps and he groaned and limped and pulled back against the reins, hardly moving at all. She stopped and stared down the trail. They were miles from anywhere. She looked back to her horse. He was sweating and his nostrils were flared and he continued to stand on three legs. She looked bleakly back out at the desert, at the sun rising red and malevolent, at the endless stretch of no man's land between them and anything or anyone else.

"Shit," she said.

There was nothing to do but walk. Long and agonizing hours beneath a cloudless sky radiating a bright, unforgiving blue that matched the color of a gas fire. They moved slowly, her horse barely able to walk and his head dropping every step, his ears pinned to his neck and his lip curled. They walked on, Jacklyn half-heartedly hazing him forward with the ends of the reins whenever he tried to stop. By noon when they reached the crossroads they had passed no other living soul save for sand-colored vipers coiled in the brush and little coyotes panting and watching from the thin shadows of the canyons. A herd of dusty wild horses stood grazing in the swimming heat motes some miles north and they were moving further that way as the sun advanced.

Jacklyn glanced up and down the trails where they forked off one to the west and one southeast and then the road she was leaving behind. Shadowless, empty. She studied the road markers and their destinations. She knew there was likely no blacksmith at Casa Madrugada and she did not deign to return there regardless. The walk to Chuparosa beyond would take days, days she could not spare, days she might not survive without a horse if her poor luck maintained itself. Behind her were men she did not trust. She looked southeast once more. The slaughterhouses of El Matadero had a blacksmith's to her best recollection. Perhaps a veterinarian. Perhaps a nag to barter for should the worst come to pass. Her horse snuffled miserably at her shoulder. They turned southeast.

It was late evening by the time they hobbled into El Matadero. The reek of swine hung heavy in the still night air and the beasts stood massive in their pens, squealing hungrily as the workers dumped slop into their troughs, squealing and shouldering past their brethren to shove their wet noses into the mess, their small eyes filled with a strange malice. She walked and watched them. The workers raised their eyes to her briefly and furtively and then looked away. Further down the road was a primitive forge, the orange glow of it thick in the evening haze. The blacksmith was a fellow American.

"This poor bastard's done for," he told her in plain terms. "Look at his leg. It ain't just his hoof. Look how swollen it is below the knee there. He's blown somethin out in a bad way. Like as not he's done blown a tendon."

"Nothin will help?"

The smith shook his head. "Ain't no fixin that. Not down here. There's hardly enough doctorin for human folk south of the border, much less horses. Best to do for him is put him out of his misery."

Jacklyn nodded. She looked at her horse and she knew the smith spoke the truth. "Any chance of me finding another horse around here?"

"Not unless you can convince the foreman to part with that miserable mule of his."

"Well, I might have to try it."

"But you make sure you take this one a little ways out from here before you shoot. Fire too close to the pens and you'll spook the pigs and they'll be screamin all night. And don't worry about him goin to waste. This is hungry country, horseflesh will be a good meal for somethin out there."

With that he returned to his anvil. Jacklyn left her saddle at the forge and took her horse and they began the slow and grim walk out past the pale lights of the pens and towards the low hills bordering the ragged mountain line. She took the saddleblanket with her. They stopped in the middle of a desert plain, open country to the south, the faintest tracings of the mountains blacker than black against the greater void of the sky, pricked with stars and still cloudless. Jacklyn put her knee under her horse's good leg and he dropped readily to his side with a long pneumatic groan, breathing heavy. It was quiet out there in the dark save for nightbirds and the plaintive yapping of coyotes. She knelt down beside him and slid the bridle off his head and laid the saddleblanket down to cover his eyes and pulled her pistol and placed the barrel against his head under the blanket. He did not move. His breathing slowed. Jacklyn exhaled and thumbed back the hammer, her other hand steady on his neck. "Sorry about this," she told him.

When she returned to the forge the smith was gone. Jacklyn stood within the darker shadows of the roof and looked down the road. Faint candlelight in the worker's lodgings. Gentle coughing and hushed voices in another foreign tongue bleeding out through the open windows. The acrid sweetness of burning opium. Jacklyn sat down with her back against the fence. There was warm blood on her hand and she wiped it on her pants and let it drop. She could feel blisters on her heels from the long walk but had no energy to remove her boots and so she closed her eyes and leaned her head back and fell asleep against the post.

In the morning she woke to the squealing of the pigs getting their morning feed. She sat and stared blearily out past the pens. The workers hardly bothered looking at her. The smith had not yet appeared at his forge. She stood up, her joints stiff. She swallowed dryly and turned her gaze down the road. A wagon was being loaded with meat and the flies had already begun to swarm. A man in a bloodstained apron stood smoking a cigarette beside it, his eyes closed to the rising sun. Further down the road was the foretold mule hitched before the butcher's barn, swatting at flies and stamping and shaking its long ears even in the mild morning heat.

When she stepped up to the door she had to stand a moment in the doorway blinking in the dark to try and make sense of the shapes within. A single oil lamp was lit and smoking faintly in the corner. A freshly-killed hog hung from its heels from a hook slung over the rafters, pale pink and dripping blood in a small dark pool below. A man was standing in the corner, small, his bony shoulders hunched, leaned back against a stack of crates. The front of his tunic was pink from old blood. One of the Chinese immigrants very far from home. He was reading a letter and had not yet noticed Jacklyn. She cleared her throat and he flinched and dropped his hands and stood upright. "Bào qiàn," he said automatically. He dropped his eyes and dropped his hands and then reached for something that was not there.

Jacklyn took a step inside. "That your foreman's mule hitched out there?"

The man blinked at her. He said something else in Mandarin. Then he shook his head at himself. "Yes," he said.

He had dropped the letter in his surprise and he quickly bent to pick it up off the floor. He brushed the dirt off and stared at it a moment longer and shook his head at himself again and looked back to Jacklyn. He held his hands with the letter behind his back. "I am sorry. He is around here, somewhere."

Even with the fear in his eyes at being caught idle he wore the woebegone expression of a man long without hope. Even with this strange, blood-splattered and heavily-armed foreigner before him his mind was elsewhere. It was impossible to tell his age beneath the round rim of his hat but he looked older than he likely truly was. Jacklyn studied him. She recognized the look in his eyes because she had worn that very expression herself many a time in the last few weeks. He was lovesick.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked.

"Nothing, it's—"

"I ain’t here to give you a hard time about it. Just wonderin what has you so down in the mouth."

He relaxed slightly, dropping his hands away from his back. "Down in the...?"

Jacklyn exhaled through her nose and took a step into the barn. "You don't look too cheerful, is what I'm sayin."

"Oh," said the man. He glanced down. "No, I do not have much to be cheerful for." He folded the letter and stuck it into the breastpocket of his stained and ragged tunic. He stood thinking for a moment and then patted at the paper with a thin hand. "This is a letter from my beloved, in Shanghai. I left her there to make my fortune."

"I take it that hasn't panned out."

He shook his head. "It's been four years since I have seen her, and I am little more than a slave. I have hardly any money, much less a fortune to speak of. She says she will wait for me, but it is a cruel thing to make someone you love wait when you have no way of knowing if you will ever see them again."

Jacklyn nodded. "That it is."

"I came here to work the goldfields. That was my intent. I'd work here long enough to be able to pay my way to California. But I did not read my contract as well as I should have. I trusted men I should not have trusted."

"Well, you ain't the first nor will you be the last to make that mistake."

"That may be so. It does not change my fate. I have asked Mister de la Vara if I may leave. I would rather go home and die a poor man with her by my side than stay here another day, but he says that I owe him ten thousand dollars if I break my contract. American dollars. I can show you on one hand how many dollars I have to my name."

He paused and sighed, regarding her with dark and tired eyes. "I am sorry. I do not mean to share my anguish with a stranger. My name is Zhou."

"Jacklyn," she said.

"Jacklyn. If I may ask..."

"Why am I here? Same as you, I suppose. Trusted men I shouldn't have. I'm sure I'll do it again before I die."

Zhou looked at her guns. "I suppose you cannot shoot all strife away."

She considered his plight. A plight not so different from her own. "Your foreman has somethin I need as well. Maybe I could speak to him."

Zhou bowed his head. "I would be forever in your debt, but he is... he is not a gentle-hearted man. I do not think—"

There were footsteps outside the barn and low laughter. Jacklyn and Zhou both turned towards the sound. A man stepped into the light. He wore a foreman's uniform and carried a coiled whip and a knowing smile and his eyes glinted and shifted with cold interest over the both of them. "It is a good thing I do not pay you to think, Zhou."

"Mister de la Vara—"

"Get back to work," he said.

Zhou dropped his eyes and murmured an apology and left them there. Juan de la Vara did not bother to watch him go. His eyes were on Jacklyn and his smile turned to something else. "What are you doing talking to my workers, cowgirl?"

Jacklyn narrowed her own eyes at him. "Callin them that seems a little generous. That fella was telling me he's barely more than a slave and after what I’ve seen I'd be inclined to believe him."

"These immigrants love to use such colorful language," spat de la Vara contemptuously. "They don't know a thing about slavery. Zhou signed a contract, just like the rest of them. Either he works it off, or he pays me for breaking it. There is nothing more sacred in this land than a contract, cowgirl. It's holier than the word of God."

"Ten grand is a ludicrous amount to raise for work like this and you know it."

"That is the point, isn't it."

He looked her up and down. At the bloodstains and the dirt, the dark rings around her eyes. The collection of weapons and implements of war. He squinted. "Where the hell did you come from anyway?"

Jacklyn ignored the question. "I'll wager a man like you wants somethin money can't buy."

"For what? Zhou's freedom?"

"We'll start there."

de la Vara grinned. "Americans always know how to talk business. It's your lucky day. There is something I want. You get it for me, Zhou walks."

"Well?"

He grinned bigger yet. "I want a white stallion. Like a real cowboy, eh? All they sell around here are goddamn burros not even fit for my dogs to eat."

"Where the hell am I supposed to find you a white stallion?"

"That isn't my problem. Catch it, steal it, pray one shows up at your feet. I don't give a damn. There's herds of horses north of here. Try that, cowgirl."

Jacklyn bit down her anger along with her pride. "If I'm goin to be wandering back out to the goddamn desert to catch you a horse I want somethin else when I bring him back. I need that mule of yours. My horse took a bad step out there and I'm stuck til I get somethin to ride."

He sneered. "A cowgirl with no horse. I wondered what the vultures were circling. You have no money?”

”No money. But lucky for you I’ve got a lasso and no other options.”

de la Vara shrugged. “Fine. She's yours when you bring me my horse. You'd better get going. And he’d better be white."

Jacklyn shouldered past him without another word and stepped outside. The sun had broken the mountain edge and sat squat and red. Zhou was at work in the pens, ankle deep in the muck, his head down. Jacklyn eyed the mule. de la Vara was still in the barn. It would take her mere moments to swing her leg over the animal's back and disappear down the road. She could vanish into the dust blowing across the barrens to the south and there would be no one to chase her down. She stood there, chewing her cheek. A voice in her head was cautioning her against it and telling her was being unkind and she sighed. "Fine, damn it," she muttered. She turned and retraced her steps out of El Matadero and back towards the sandstone monuments of Diez Coronas.

  

 

Jacklyn sat crouched on the hill with her heels in the sand and glassed the desert below with her binoculars. The sun was directly above her. She lowered the binoculars, wiped sweat from the back of her neck, and raised them once more to her eyes. They were out there, grazing in the scrubgrass nearly at the southern canyon wall. They were rangy beasts with roman-noses, holdovers from their European ancestors brought over the sea on wooden ships. Among them was one stallion. Pale dappled grey. His appearance among those other horses tawny-colored and mahogany was a singular turn of fortune for Jacklyn in many a week.

She carefully made her way down the slope and circled back behind them, staying as well out of sight as she could. It had taken her hours to backtrack up that road towards Torquemada. She encountered a military caravan going the opposite way but they paid her little mind and she paid them less and she had met no one and nothing else on the road. Two days now she had tracked the herd through the desert, waiting. She had eaten little and was ill for want of water but she knew she was committed to this path and there was no going back for another. She watched the horses. She knew she had one chance and if they spotted her they would vanish and there would be no catching them. She walked back along the canyon and followed them as they slowly arced through the basin, following the shadows as the sun cleared the apex of the sky and began to fall west. The stallion had meandered away from the rest and stood grazing in a patch of butterfly weed, his long mane falling over his eyes. Jacklyn had dropped to a crouch and knelt about fifteen feet behind him in the waist-high beargrass. There was no way of getting closer without risking him seeing her. She took several long breaths. She pulled her lasso and unraveled it and held the loop in her hand and gave a low whistle. He raised his head, not seeing her but his ears still pricked towards the sound. She stood and swung the rope and stepped forward as she did. It landed neatly about his neck and he raised up and spun and immediately she dug her heels into the dirt and braced against him, wrapping the lasso around her elbows as she reeled her way in. He twisted and squealed and pulled but she fought against him and edge closer and closer. She spoke to him in low tones, following him as he strafed away from her but still closing the distance. He took off but she saw it coming and took a running leap when she was about four strides away and clambered up his back and grabbed a handful of mane and held on. He took off into the desert with her on him, bucking and diving his head and calling out. Jacklyn dug her heels in and pulled him hard to the left with the rope til his nose was nearly against her knee. He spun in a circle and fought her less and less and finally he relented and he stood blowing his nostrils and dancing about beneath her with his head still turned but he did not try to throw her. She sat there a time with him til she was sure he would not run off again, the both of them breathing hard. She patted his shoulder and spoke to him. He was trembling but he stood steady. She dismounted and though he took a couple of sideways steps he did not flee. She stood petting him and then she pulled the rope hackamore from her satchel and quickly placed it on his head and mounted back up before he could change his mind about it. He arched his neck and stamped but did nothing more. She reached down and stroked his neck. "You're a fine one. If I had half a brain I'd keep you for myself and get the hell out of here."

He pawed at the dirt and shook his ears. She sighed. "Yeah, I know," she said, less to him or herself and more to someone far away from her. "That wouldn't be very nice of me. I know it."

She sat him there a moment longer. The rest of his herd had ran off into the desert and he stood looking out at the ragged boulderlands of his birth, at the spires of rock. The reefs of cloud above the canyons. Jacklyn felt a small pang of regret but she touched him up with her spurs and turned him away and they rode south back to the road.

 

  
de la Vara was overseeing the afternoon slaughter when Jacklyn rode back into El Matadero. He stepped out onto the road and appraised the animal with his mouth pursed beneath his mustache. He tugged on his beard with one hand. "Not very white."

Jacklyn had dismounted and she eyed him from beside the stalion's head. She looked haggard and worn out and she looked as though she were debating just shooting the man. "Don't play stupid. You know he'll lighten up as he ages. Can't be more than four or five now. Give him a year and he'll be as white as your backside. Now give me my mule, and give Zhou his freedom."

de la Vara waved her off. "Órale. The mule is over by the forge. Take my saddle off first. And you can tell Zhou yourself. I'm not wasting time saying my goodbyes to a man that I know will be back."

Jacklyn paused mid-step as she was walking away. She turned towards him. "What was that?"

de la Vara laughed and shook his head. "You Americans and your love of sad stories. Zhou loves his opium more than he'll ever love his woman in Shanghai, cowgirl, and I give him all he wants. He will be back. They always come back."

With that he took his horse and left her. She looked over at the blacksmith's. The mule was standing glumly in the thin smoke. Jacklyn saddled her and then left her hitched and went to find Zhou. He was shoveling muck in the pens, his shoulders bowed miserably. Jacklyn stepped up to the fence and whistled for him. "Zhou," she said.

He raised his head. His eyes were slightly glazed and for a moment it seemed as though he did not recognize her. "Yes?"

"I talked to your boss. You're free to go."

Zhou stood there a moment still holding the shovel. "What?"

"You heard me. Or did you forget what we talked about a couple days back."

Zhou dropped the shovel directly in the mud and hustled over to where she stood. "I am free? Free to go home?"

"Just about. There's somethin we need to talk about first," she said. "Now, there's no goin back on it now. I can't exactly take back my trade and leave you in servitude. But I have to know, you love this girl?"

He nodded insistently. "Yes. Her and I, we were meant to be together. I love her more than anything in this world, more than fortune, more than—"

"More than opium?"

He paused. And he nodded again, more slowly, and his eyes dropped from Jacklyn's own. "For her, I will never touch it again. She is too important to me. And to see her again is a blessing I cannot repay you for."

Jacklyn shook her head at him. "You can repay me by doin right by her. The best you can. Not everyone finds what you've found, and even fewer get it back after it's been lost."

Zhou bowed his head. "I must pack. It is a long journey to the train station. Thank you, my friend. May you be shown the kindness you have shown me, and be granted my good fortune."

Jacklyn nodded. "I'd best not see you round here again."

He nodded and jogged off to the worker's lodgings and disappeared. Jacklyn walked over to her new mount, who eyed her impetuously and shook her long ears out as Jacklyn led her out the road. She mounted up and looked out once more at the pens, at the swine and the workers laboring ceaselessly in their mess, at the welter of blood and hanging pink flesh in the butcher's sheds, the blankets of flies on everything and their incessant snarl, at the faint smoke wafting from the open windows of the huts. She shook her head and spurred the mule and they cantered out into the dusty afternoon light.

 

  
That night she camped on a plateau well to the south of Chuparosa overlooking a shadowland even further south, deep recesses in the cliffs an abyssal black that seemed as endless as the sky above her. The flames of her fire sawed back and forth, a flickering light that cast dancing shadows over the sand and chains of sparks raced on top of the sand. It was still hours til morning and her hobbled mule stood just within the fire-glow looking east for light. Jacklyn sat in the sand, her legs out in front of her, the well-used journal she was writing in held open in her lap as she scrawled across the page.

 

_Bonnie,_

_I hope you and your father are doing well._

_I remain a fool, and I'm sure I will die a fool, but I am trying to be something like the woman you deserve._

_I have, as is my nature, done something stupid. I let my mind wander and it wandered to you. Though it is painful, my thoughts of you carry me through my weakest moments. There are times I forget myself, times I forget right and wrong. When these occur, I think of you, and what you would do. It keeps me straight and honest. Or at least it tries to._

_I miss you, Bonnie MacFarlane. And I wish I could say to your face the things I have written here._

 

Jacklyn stopped writing. She flipped to the front of the journal. Words written by a dead man in script hardly cleaner than her own. Sketches and half-formed thoughts. Hundreds of drawings of flowers and wildlife and places between the two of them. The blank page between his end and her beginning. She turned back to the letter. She read through what she had written once and closed the journal and put it away. She exhaled and dropped her head between her knees and there she remained as the wind blew about her and as her fire died and as her mind and her heart drifted to places she would rather them not go.

 


	18. Chapter 18

It was another two day ride back to Escalera. That second night out of Diez Coronas Jacklyn slept on the sand, dead to the world while her fire slowly failed beside her. Twelve hours she was asleep and when she woke there were flies crawling across her face. She sat blinking in the low cold sun, bleary-eyed, her shoulders bowed. The world to the west was still chasing off the last remnants of night's shadow and the littlest of rocks cast pencil-thin shadows across the ground. Jacklyn stood slowly and looked out over the waste from the plateau she had bedded on. Her hobbled mule snorted gloomily. Above her circled a lone vulture. When it saw her watching it looped around one more time and then left her there, great wings outstretched and the bald head gawking. She stood there a little while longer and smoked her last cigarette and watched the sun rise and then she shook her head at nothing and mounted up and rode down into the desert.

At Escalera she again ascended the hill to the mansion, leaving the mule tied below. The guards did not pay her any mind as she stepped through the gates to stand in the courtyard. Captain de Santa and another soldier were harrying three young women up the terrace steps. Jacklyn watched from the ground level. A low whine rang in her ears. Rushing blood and ugly tension. She shook her head to ward off the noise and to ward off her urge to shoot every last man stationed within those walls.

"¡Andenles, lindas, sean patrioticas!" said de Santa, laughing as the girl he held roughly by the arm tried to wiggle out of his grasp. "Mi amor, nadie te esta obligando a hacer nada. Solo quiero que animes al hombre que va a salvar a tu padre. ¿Tú quieres a tu padre cierto que sí, linda?"

Immediately she stopped fighting and turned to de Santa with a desperate look on her face. She had been crying but her eyes were rigid and her cheeks pale. "Sí," she breathed. “Sí, por favor.”

de Santa laughed again. "¡Adelante!"

They disappeared into the interior shadows of the manor. Jacklyn walked onto the terrace and looked out over the city. She could hear the fading whimpers of the women and the laughter of the soldiers as they were ushered further yet into their opulent prison. She closed her eyes.

"Hola, amiga. ¿Que pasa?" said de Santa amicably, meeting her at the overlook as he walked back outside. He turned his own eyes to the city and he smiled. "A beautiful scene, no?"

"It’d look prettier with your head mounted on a stick," she said.

“Hah. I do appreciate American humor. I have good news for you, mi amiga. The Coronel will be joining us shortly."

Jacklyn looked at him. "After he's raped those women you mean?"

de Santa tutted. "Such unfortunate language. Those women are patriots, proud supporters of our Coronel's vision of Mexico."

"Enough. If he ain't out here in the next ten seconds—"

"de Santa!" called Allende, emerging from the French doors, one arm each around the shoulders of two of his captives, half-dressed and trembling. Not the same women Jacklyn had seen harried inside moments earlier. "¡Mariconcito! You found me some lively ones, eh? Ay mamacita, ¿donde es estado toda mi vida?"

The woman he spoke to shuddered, hunkering into his side to avoid looking at his face. Allende laughed. "Marston! Care to sample the bounty?"

When she stayed silent he laughed again. "No? Perhaps after you have those men in your grasp you'll feel up to it."

"You found them?"

"I have. As promised. My spies tell me that the rebels are planning another attack on one of our supply trains. Escuella and Williamson will be with them. You do your vaquera thing, kill them both, protect my train and return, yes? I'll have pesos and women for you when you show back up."

"I just want the men," she said. "But I'm curious at to why they would show themselves now after hiding all this time. How do you know they’ll be there?"

"You Americans are so distrusting," Allende said, sneering at her over the thin cigar smoking between his teeth. "This is not just any supply train. We are transporting essential heavy munitions to one of our bases near Manteca Falls. If this train is lost it will cripple our position in the entire eastern half of the province. The rebels know this, so they are letting out their attack dogs to make sure they succeed. They underestimate my own, however."

"I am  _not_  your damn attack dog."

He dismissed her objection with a flippant wave of his hand. "Lo que sea. You have your orders, you'll have your men. I have other matters to attend to now."

He turned away with the girls and they disappeared back inside the mansion. de Santa gestured her over to him and they walked back down the steps. "Mexico loves you, Señora Marston."

"She has a funny way of showin it."

"You will ride in the wagon with Espinoza. We have more supplies for the train and we are expecting the rebels will try to get them before you get that far. He's outside the gates. ¡Buena suerte, amiga!"

She walked away from him without another word, fists clenched, eyes stormy and furious. She did not see the way his own face darkened as he watched her go.

Espinoza, on the other hand, seemed grateful to have her along for the ride.

"Greetings, my deadly American friend. I hope you are in the mood to spill some blood today."

"Anything to get this over with," she said as she climbed up into the wagon, the dull throb in the back of her skull feeding into an already dangerous temper.

He nodded, setting the horses down the hill with the others. "Very good. That's the sort of attitude that will save this country."

Jacklyn ignored him and looked over the envoy. Five wagons, all with loaded beds, their own wagon dead center between the others in the column. There were no mounted escorts and most of the drivers were alone on their benches, rifles over their laps.

"Why is de Santa not ridin with us?" asked Jacklyn. "He's come along for everything else."

Espinoza made a noise of disgust. "And yet he never fought at the front lines like you or me. He is hardly a soldier and as such I'm sure he has other important business, like mailing letters or sweeping floors or flirting with barmen."

"I'm no military expert but I thought you two were the same rank."

"de Santa licks the Colonel's boots like a puppy dog and plays with his waiter friend. He is a maid that the Colonel cannot fuck. That is all. I am Allende's brazo derecho. His right arm. I am one of the few men he respects. Just as you are one of the even fewer women. You are a hundred times the man de Santa could hope to be, or even hope to have. That is why you are fighting today and not him."

Jacklyn arched a brow. "I know you intend that as a compliment so I'll try and take it as such. All the same, all de Santa ever talks about is gettin Reyes. You’d think he’d not miss somethin like this.”

Espinoza turned to her, his good eye on hers. “So you do not trust him either.”

“I don’t trust anyone in this goddamn country. Including you.”

They drove on. The desert was still, not even the gentlest of winds to temper a brutal noon sun. Even the slightest of creatures had taken shelter beneath the sparse scrub grasses and the hoofbeats of the horses rang hollow against the ground. 

"Does it seem quiet to you?" Espinoza asked suddenly. 

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

He peered out over the terra firma, the air quaking. He narrowed his eye. "We are halfway to Chuparosa and we have not seen a single rebel yet."

He spoke a second too soon. A gunshot broke the silence with a report that was flat and hollow in that landscape. The bullet came from the hills to the south and killed the driver of the wagon in line just before them. He dropped dead and fell beneath the wheels and the horses screamed and careened off the side of the road and fled into the desert, the driverless wagon crashing and bouncing behind. More gunshots followed and a trio of ragged riders appeared over the low peaks, barreling through the scrub and firing wildly. 

"¡Rebeldes!" cried Espinoza, drawing his pistol and urging his horses faster with a vicious snap of the reins. "¡Matenlos!"

Jacklyn had swung her rifle over her shoulder and stood up, bracing herself against the side of the bench with her knee. The rider nearest them had wheeled his horse around to come from the rear of the envoy when he saw her aiming at him but she shot him cleanly off his mount and he dropped and vanished into the low gorges lining the road. The other two crossed the trail to get behind the wagons. One of them killed the driver at the very back but he was shot himself as he attempted to leap from his horse onto the wagon and he fell between them was left dead on the road. The last rider, seeing that his comrades had failed, turned to flee. Jacklyn lowered her weapon but Espinoza did not and he shot him in the back. The rebel jerked and slumped limply over his horse’s shoulder. 

Espinoza looked around. Two wagons lost. He cursed angrily and set his pistol down on his lap. “Those were scouts. They would not have attacked with only three men unless they thought they could’ve bested us. I am glad you were here.  Bien hecho, compadre, b ut something does not feel right."

He turned and called out over his shoulder. "Soldado, ¿quien eres? ¿Cual escuadrón?"

"Somos nuevos reclutas, Capitán," answered the soldier over the creaking of the wheels. "Es nuestra primera asignación."

Espinoza cursed again. "I knew I had not seen these men before! They are new recruits. Our reports have been talking about the rebels planning a large attack. If these supplies are so important, why have we been given such few soldiers? And new ones at that?"

Jacklyn shook her head. "You tell me. You're the captain."

"You seem very calm considering that it's likely de Santa is trying to get us killed," he retorted. 

"He's not the first. He won't be the last. If you're right, I'll kill him myself and move on."

"That is an admirable philosophy. And perhaps one that has served your skills well. You are an impressive marksman. Tell me, your belt is full of weapons, which is your weapon of choice?"

"To do what?"

"To kill a man."

She eyed him contemptuously. "I might be a killer but I'm no sadist, Captain. I use whatever will be quickest and cleanest."

He laughed at her. "Come now. Someone like you has killed for pleasure before. And if not pleasure then vengeance. Those are not clean or quick deaths, nor should they be."

They were nearing Chuparosa. Their train sat smoking at the station and there were already soldiers at work loading the cars. They both stepped off the wagon and made their way over to the engine. 

"I do not think we have seen the last of the rebels. New recruits can't win a fight like this," Espinoza said, gazing unhappily at the pitiful amount of support they had been granted. "The car just behind the engine has been rigged with a Gatling gun. I need you to man it. You have used one before, I hope?"

"I have. And I better have some covering fire if you expect me to stand out in the open while they shoot at me."

He nodded. "I want to step off that train alive just as much as you do. Today is not my day to die."

They watched as the last of the supplies were loaded. Eyeing the gun Jacklyn was reminded briefly of her time spent with folk that she somehow longed for when compared to the company she kept now. Espinoza anxiously paced along the length of the train barking orders to his men. Jacklyn set herself up at the gun and took a breath. Rarely did she fear for her own life but this close to the end she understood there was much to lose and a bit of blood was the least of it. 

Espinoza positioned himself at the car just before Jacklyn's, giving her a grim nod as the train whistled and began to move forward. "Shoot them like dogs, for that is what they are."

Jacklyn disregarded him. She kept her eyes on either side of the track and was just as wary of the captain at her back as she was any rebel. The soldiers positioned down along the train shifted nervously at their posts and knelt with guns drawn, fingers poised on the triggers. 

"Eyes up!" barked Espinoza. "They will be hiding in the rocks!"

Jacklyn swung the gun towards the cliff face north of the tracks. Dead white trees rooted in the seams of the rock and hard black shadows. Tense silence for many long minutes. Dead wind. The clicking of the wheels on the tracks. She caught the glint of sunlight off the scope of a rifle poking through the scrub bush along a shelf of rock on the cliffside. She pulled the gun up. The rebel realized he had been seen and raised his weapon just as she began to turn the firing crank. 

His bullet glanced off the bottom of the car and ricocheted off into the desert. Hers did no such thing. The ridge was chipped apart as though it were made of limestone as she worked her way down the line, the machine gun rattling wildly and spitting death. Two bodies slumped over the rocks and fell. The survivors called out and fled the cliff and disappeared back over the edge. 

"There will be more!" shouted Espinoza. "Marston! Riders from the south! Turn the gun!"

At first there seemed to only be three or four mounted attackers coming from over the low hills but behind the dust they kicked up were other forms, vague outlines numbering in the dozens. All calling out and all brandishing their arms. Near the back of the train a soldier had begun to pray loudly in rapid Spanish. The horde revealed itself fully at the break of the tracks and a hail of bullets rained upon the train. Jacklyn ducked under the gun and Espinoza had to leap behind one of the supply crates. The soldiers screamed out, firing in a panic out into the wastes. Some died outright at the first fire, some lay bleeding and whimpering on the floor of the flatbeds. Jacklyn fired blindly into the line of attackers from where she kneeled, tearing down man and horse alike. A bullet caught her upper arm and she had little more than a second to glance at it before the rebels swung back around to attack again. It was a havoc of noise and confusion, the dust from the horses and the haze of gunsmoke that drifted over the train cars nearly giving the scene a dreamlike quality were it not for the cries and screams of real men. 

The remaining rebels, realizing that they were fighting an impossible battle against the Gatling gun, pulled their horses up and turned the opposite way down the tracks. Jacklyn fired upon them as they fled, not chancing losing Escuella or Williamson should they be among them though in her heart she finally understood that they were not riding with the rebels and that they likely never had been. 

Espinoza stood and surveyed the destruction left in their wake, the splayed corpses of beast and man, and he laughed heartily and wildly. "You see that?! We slaughtered them! Their bodies will be food for the vultures."

"You know what I don't see?" Jacklyn asked him, her hands near to trembling with anger as blood ran down her sleeve. "I don't see the bodies of the men I was promised."

Espinoza either did not hear her or he was ignoring her. "I do not think de Santa intended for us to survive this," he said. 

"Don't worry about him. I find out he's double-crossed me I'll shoot him myself, right after I shoot you and your Colonel."

This remark got his attention and he looked sharply at her. "Careful, Marston," he warned. "Threats like that aren't dismissed so easily. I don't care how many rebels you've killed, I'll bury you in the same graves as them."

She turned from him, fuming, the pain pulsing heavily in her arm where the bullet sat only feeding into her wrath. The remainder of the journey was made in silence as they began the ascent towards the camp at the edge of the river canyon. A red sun bled into the clouds at their backs and the juniper forest they traversed towards the falls cast spidery shadows upon the earth. Jacklyn stepped off the train the moment it came to a halt and turned to Espinoza, her expression dark. 

"I need a horse, a roll of gauze and a set of tweezers. Then I'll be on my way."

He nodded, missing her expression in the failing light of that crimson dusk. "You should get back to Escalera. We can have a medic look at that arm first if you wish."

"I'm not goin back to Escalera. And I think I'd just as soon trust a rattlesnake with my health as one of your army doctors after the repeated bullshit I've been put through. I've gunned down countless people for your Colonel and all I have to show for it is a bullet in my goddamn arm. I'm done. Now go get me what I asked for before I get back behind that gun and do somethin rash."

Espinoza glared at her in a dangerous silence. The soldiers who had overheard the exchange shifted nervously and looked between the two. 

"The only reason I'm not going to shoot you down where you stand is because me and my men owe you for the train," hissed Espinoza, his own anger flaring. "I see you again I'll kill you. Take your horse and go. ¡Vete!"

She did exactly that, raiding the medical tent first and then picking out the finest animal she could from the pens, the base commander's own mount judging by the shouts that followed her as they sprinted down the slope. She thought they might shoot at her but they did not. About an hour she rode, clenching her teeth against the torment in her arm but not trusting the army to let her go unimpeded. She rode on. The first settlement she came upon was Casa Madrugada. In the courtyard she dismounted and hitched her horse and stepped into the cantina. The men there looked at her and the blood dripping out of her coatsleeve and then they glanced between each other and murmured in Spanish but none of them said a word to her. She bought a bottle of mescal and left them there staring after her and the thin trail of blood like red paint on the dusty floor. She rented one of the rooms in the hotel and sat on the bed and stripped off her coat and shirt. The bullet was lodged about two inches above her elbow and the flesh around it was bruised and swollen. She took a long drink and put the tweezers against her flesh and a hot jolt of pain immediately caused her to put them down and take the mescal back in hand. 

It took her nearly an hour to finally ease the round out of her arm and afterward she laid on the bed drenched in sweat, the wound seeping red onto the sheets. She sighed and spitefully tossed the round onto the hardwood floor and it bounced and rolled under the bed among others. She watched the sky darken through the open window. Eventually she sat up and packed the hole with gauze and wrapped it and then laid back once more, eyes closed and jaw taut as she tried to breathe through the ache. She took another drink and then another. She watched night fall upon the desert. Listened to the cries of men and women in the rooms down the hall. The cooing of doves perched on the balcony. Against her own better judgment she thought again of Bonnie, how hands gentler than her own might have tended to her, how she might have been scolded for being so careless. She chewed on her cheek. It was unwise to ponder something so improbable and she knew it. She looked outside once more. Livid thunderheads far to the south rearing huge and silent over the mountains. She stood and hung the latch on the door to lock it and took the rest of her clothes off and returned to bed. For a time she stared at the ceiling, exhausted, yet sleep would not take her. She had not the faintest idea what to do next. 

"Bonnie," she muttered. "If you have any wisdom to share with me I sure would appreciate it."

Silence. She sighed. She knew already what Bonnie would have told her to do. 

"They'll shoot me. Maybe worse. And hell, I'll deserve it," she said. 

More silence. 

"I know. You're always right." 

She paused. 

"Well. Most of the time."


End file.
